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Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OC

A/N: The stories will follow the show's timeline only partially, many characters will have different stories than the original ones.

Some characters, places or events do not correspond to the TV show, I am only granted some "licenses".

I don't own any rights to TWD or its characters, scene or original dialogue.

I own only Summer and the main plot of the story, do not copy or use without permission.

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for every mistake.

Especially the ones you'll find in Daryl's speech.

Writing using a southern accent is something I don't do very well and I hope you can understand me and even help me sometimes.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Warnings: For anyone who has seen The Walking Dead knows exactly how the show works and what kind of crude topics are often shown.

I already warn you that each of my chapters will contain a different trigger that will not be reported at the beginning of the chapter so anyone who doesn't feel comfortable with these topics is better not reading my story.

This story contains mature content, including:

Graphic scene, strong language, gore, death, violence, sex, racism, pregnancy, miscarriage, weapon, drugs, abuse, blood, alcohol, self arm.

Age gap: Daryl is 35 years old and Summer is 24 years old.

Summary: Summer is a sweet, cheerful girl in love with life.

Her parents love her more than anything in the world and she could never imagine not having them by her side.

But then the apocalypse takes all of that away from her.

Nowadays she is only a shadow of what she was.

She was forced to run away from the only man she believed could love and protect her forever.

She finds herself alone and exhausted in the middle of the woods, waiting to die.

But then a mysterious man saves her.

Daryl.

A man with a past full of demons.

Maybe their meeting will decree the survival of the girl and the rebirth of the archer.

Between lies and secrets will they ever find some peace in the end?

Is there still room in this world for feelings like love, friendship and honor?

Or will fears and misunderstandings do nothing but drive them away from each other, allowing themselves to be devoured by their own mistakes?

🔥Moodboard🔥

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 coming soon

Then and Now, We’ve Got Each Other

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Prompt - ‘Let’s leave this nothing town behind us, we don’t need anything else, we’ve got each other.’

Daryl Dixon wasn’t somebody who enjoyed his life. His dad drank himself stupid every day, beat on their mom until she went and got herself killed. Their dad, when he could stand straight enough, beat on him and Merle so much that both of them had learnt from a young age to hide their marks, at least until they realised that nobody cared.

Merle was the first to drop out of school, nobody fought much to get him back there either. It wasn’t like their dad gave a damn about where they were and the teachers saw the Dixon boys as a troubled pair that would amount to nothing. Merle was always involved in some sketchy business but Daryl learnt not to ask what it was, especially not when it meant Merle sometimes snuck him the occasional sandwich when their dad was passed out.

Daryl had stuck school out for longer than Merle but it didn’t take much longer for him to leave either. He was ready to leave when Merle had but something happened that made his life different, he still didn’t enjoy it, he wasn’t happy but he felt…different.

You had moved states and ended up at a new school. You hadn’t even been there a few days when you’d heard the whispers of the Dixon boys and it hadn’t taken long to realise who they were talking about, the boy in your class with long, dirty hair and even dirtier clothes. You assumed he had a brother who looked equally as dirty and scrawny and felt your heart ache as people gossiped about the pair.

He never spoke to you but he felt less sad when you smiled at him. He knew people spoke about him but he had never cared, nothing these kids said could hurt more than his dad’s fists but still, you made it better.

He lasted a few months before dropping out and you worried the whole week he didn’t show up for school. You weren’t stupid, you had seen the bruises that nobody else seemed to care about, seen the cuts and the way Daryl swiped food so quickly it had taken you a while to notice, you had started bringing extra food in after you had though and leaving it in your place after you left.

You were worried sick that whoever was hurting Daryl had gone too far but there wasn’t anything you could do. You didn’t have a phone number for Daryl, didn’t know where he lived, didn’t know who his big brother was to ask about him.

When the next week rolled around and Daryl still hadn’t been seen you started asking around, ignoring the odd looks people gave you and eventually pieced together enough to figure out where Daryl lived.

After school you walked to where Daryl should live, it was out of the way, run down and had you glancing over your shoulder as you walked down the street trying to find any sign of Daryl. You had only been able to get the street he lived on, not his actual house number, so short of knocking on every house there wasn’t much you could do and sighed to yourself feeling helpless.

The rundown street was surrounded by woods that only made the place seem even more dangerous but just passed it all there was a river and without meaning to you found yourself walking towards it. Twigs and leaves crunched under your feet and you jumped at every sound in the distance but the river was quite nice considering the area and once you were out of the trees it was actually quite peaceful.

You walked for a while before stopping, eyebrows knitting together as you saw a figure in the distance sat alone staring out at the river. You hadn’t ever spoken to him but you’d spent more than enough time looking at him to know it was Daryl and felt a small smile pull at your lips.

At least he was alive.

You made your way over to him, trying to keep your footsteps light even though unbeknownst to you Daryl had heard you long before you had seen him. Daryl had that feeling again, he hated his life, there was nothing good in it but here you were and suddenly it felt different again.

You didn’t say anything when you finally joined him, just sat down on the floor next to him and Daryl couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eyes. Here you were, clean and neat sitting on the dirty, muddy floor with him.

It made it easier to breathe somehow even as his ribs ached from his dad’s boot.

The two of you sat side by side for a while in peaceful silence, neither one of you knowing what to say and yet it didn’t feel awkward. It was weird to Daryl, he wasn’t used to having somebody with him, not even Merle came out here with him. He was used to being alone, it was better that way and yet for some reason he didn’t hate that you had joined him.

“You didn’t come to school.” You finally said, breaking the silence but keeping your voice soft.

You hadn’t asked a question, there was no reason for Daryl to say anything, he didn’t owe you an answer, didn’t need to explain himself to you but you had come to find him and he had wanted to talk to you for a while.

“Dropped out.” He finally muttered, not looking at you as his voice came out weak and croaky…he wasn’t used to speaking much.

You didn’t know what to say to that and kept looking ahead at the river in front of you. Daryl looked even skinnier than when you had last seen him and this time he had a split lip and black eye that made you wince.

You wished you could do something to help him but you figured Daryl wouldn’t exactly be the type to let you call the police for him. People whispered about the Dixon family, they knew full well what was going on, if somebody was going to step in they would have long before you showed up in town.

So maybe you couldn’t get Daryl away from his house, maybe you couldn’t stop whoever was hurting him but you could do something. You could be a friend to him, give him somebody to talk to who wouldn’t judge him and use it to gossip, you could be there for him and bring him food and make sure he had somebody on his side.

“I brought this for you.” You said, turning to root through your school bag and pulled out a sandwich, a chocolate bar, and an apple as well as a bottle of soda.

You held the items out for Daryl who finally looked at you properly, he hid it well but you could see the shock on his face, the surprise that somebody was helping him.

“Don’t need y’to feed me.” He muttered, turning back to face the river and you bit back a sigh.

“I know you don’t.” You told him honestly because to get as far as Daryl had in his house he had probably had to fend for himself, he would see any small act as charity. Sure he had been fine swiping the half a piece of sandwich you left at lunch or the candy you left behind but he would struggle to accept something being outright given to him. “It’s for you though, you don’t have to eat it but it’s there.”

You left the food on the floor in between you and went back to sitting in silence. It was less than ten minutes later when Daryl’s hunger won out and you heard the wrapped being pulled from the sandwich and you had to bite back a relieved smile, watching as Daryl practically inhaled the food, glad to know he had something in him for the day.

It went on like that for months, every day after school you would walk down to the river, though walking through the woods still sent a shiver down your spine, especially when the winter meant that it got dark earlier. Each day you and Daryl would sit together, you always brought food for the two of you and mostly the silence would be filled by you. Daryl liked listening to you talk, it didn’t matter what you were saying he just liked listening. He spoke too, not much but whenever he did you always gave him your full attention, listening to every word he said like it was important.

He always walked you home, by the time you were standing to leave it was well into the night, sky dark and Daryl didn’t feel right letting you walk alone. So he led you through the woods and watched as you glanced around like something was going to jump out at you, it never did but even if something were to happen Daryl wouldn’t let anything hurt you.

By the time he had walked across town to your street, and the first time he had seen where you lived he flushed with embarrassment at the big house in the nice part of town, and walked back to his house his dad was usually passed out and Merle was either nursing his wounds with a beer or out doing whatever he got up to.

Daryl’s life still wasn’t good, it wasn’t enjoyable but the few hours a day he got to steal with you made it easier, it made him see that maybe there could be good in it, maybe he was allowed to feel happy.

When he started working on his bike, months into knowing you, he had to smile when you first saw it. You had looked at him like he was crazy and he probably looked it, split lip that kept bleeding when you made him smile, one eye swollen shut and all kinds of black and purple as he sat surrounded by a rundown bike and even more run down parts and tools.

“There’s no way you’re riding that if you ever build it.” You had told him as you sat down next to him and he felt his lip sting again as he smiled over at you.

“Course I am,” he told you confidently and chuckled as you shook your head, “you’re comin’ on it too.”

“Like hell I am!” You protested, pulling a face at the mess of a bike that lay on the floor in the middle of you.

“Sure ya are, not like I’m gonna let anything bad happen to ya.” Daryl said as he swiped at his lip with his tongue before screwing something into the bike, so focused on what he was doing that he missed the way your face softened into a smile as you could do nothing but stare at him for a second. “‘Sides this bike’ll be the best once I get it runnin’.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m getting on that death trap, even crazier if you think I’m letting you on it.” Daryl just grinned at you again as he put the spanner down and wiped his forehead with his arm. “How long have you been working on this thing anyway?”

“Couple hours? I dunno.” Daryl shrugged and you gave him a look that made his smile grow.

He still wasn’t used to that, it had been nearly a year since you had decided to join him out by the river and he still wasn’t used to smiling so damn much.

“Take a break, Dixon, time to eat.” You told him and he nodded at you as he moved around the bike to sit next to you, reaching over to wash his grease covered hands in the river as you pulled food and drinks out of your bag.

“Why the bike anyway?” You asked as the two of you were eating and Daryl shrugged before finishing his bite.

“Gotta have a way to get outta here someday.” He told you and the answer didn’t shock you, you knew Daryl wanted out of this town, wanted plenty of distance from his dad.

You couldn’t blame him, you were surprised he had stuck around this long but you supposed it wasn’t like he had the money to just up and leave. Part of you wanted to leave with him when he finally put this town behind him, just because your family lived in the nice part of town, just because you had money and food, didn’t mean that your parents were great people. Of course you didn’t have it as bad as Daryl, your parents didn’t hit you, didn’t starve you and let you go however long without a shower or didn’t give you a warm place to sleep. Your parents were just cold people, the kind that weren’t really meant to be parents but it was what was expected of them and you were expected to follow in their footsteps.

“Getting ready to leave me behind?” You asked jokingly but both of you could hear the sadness behind it and Daryl shook his head fiercely.

“Like hell imma leave you in this dump, ya coming with me.” Daryl told you and you couldn’t help but smile over at him, Daryl smiling right back at you and it was then you realised that you had already made your decision without thinking about it because you would follow Daryl Dixon wherever he went.

“Not on that thing.” You laughed and just like that the serious moment was gone and Daryl’s smile widened even as he rolled his eyes.

“Just wait, it’s gonna be great.” He assured you just to hear you laugh again.

It was anything but great. The thing roared to life and spluttered causing Daryl to groan and kick it before the engine ran properly and you gave him an incredulous look when he turned to face you.

“It’s gonna be great.” He told you again, repeating the words he had told you months ago.

“It’s a death trap!” You exclaimed, causing him to laugh and pick a helmet up off the floor before making his way over to you.

“I tested it before you even saw it ‘cause I knew you’d bitch about me gettin’ on the thing.” Daryl told you and you glared at him as he stopped in front of you. “Trust me, it’s good.”

With that he lifted the helmet and settled it over your head, smiling at the glare still on your face. He made sure the helmet was properly on you before he climbed onto the bike and held a hand out to help you on.

“Daryl-” You began but he cut you off.

“Trust me, you really think I’d let ya on here if I didn’t think ya were gonna be safe?” He had a point, Daryl might have had no regard for his own safety but when it came to you…God was he protective.

Daryl grinned when you sighed, knowing he had won and felt your hand in his as you got onto the bike, slotting behind him perfectly. His smile softened as he chuckled in amusement when your arms went around his waist, holding him in a death grip before the bike had even moved.

“Relax.” He told you over the noise of the engine and you just shook your head before he felt the helmet rest against the back of his shoulder. He didn’t need to look at you to know your eyes were screwed shut and he laughed again as he began to move the bike and your arms tightened even more around him.

“I hate this!” He heard you call over the sound of the bike speeding through the road and he smiled widely, one hand coming off the handle to squeeze your arm before he put it back, he was serious when he said he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.

Daryl had known you for long enough now that he struggled to remember his life without you by his side, he remembered a time where he struggled to think of one good thing in his life, struggled to remember what being happy was like, if he had even felt it before.

He knew he had never known true happiness before you arrived, before you broke past every wall he put up and made sure you were a part of his life despite the rumours and how it would have been better for you to stay away from the Dixon boy.

Now, in this moment, the bike carrying you two away from his street, your arms around his waist as you tucked yourself against his shoulder, he knew this was true happiness. You were his happiness and he would do everything he could to make sure you were happy too.

He had been ready for this moment for years, ready to leave everything behind and get away from this town. He had nothing left here, Merle had packed up and left years ago and his dad would soon be nothing but a distant memory.

He would have left so long ago but he refused to leave without you and even though you had been ready to leave with him he wanted to make sure you at least graduated first, you were smart, smarter than him and had a chance of a future doing whatever you wanted. He wouldn’t let you throw that away. If you wanted to come with him that was great, hell Daryl wanted nothing else, but if something happened one day and you wanted to leave then he was going to make sure you had a backup plan.

Daryl had the bike, he’d been working on it for ages now and it was a proper functioning bike. You had insisted on helping build it up, you were getting out of town on it and you’d be damned if it fell to pieces on you. Daryl had scoffed and told you it’d be fine only for you to show up the next day with all kinds of new, shiny pieces, you had no idea what they did but Daryl had been able to upgrade the bike even as he glared at you.

Daryl waited outside the school on his bike, the two of you had no real destination in mind but you were finally ready to leave. He watched you come out of the building and scan the area before your eyes landed on him and your whole face lit up as you ran over to him, Daryl’s hand already out for you to slide yours into as you climbed on the bike.

“Ready t’get the hell outta here?” Daryl asked as he passed the helmet back, ignoring the way you pushed his shoulder because he refused to wear one with a smile on his face.

“More than ready.” You told him as you secured the helmet on your head and wrapped your arms around him, thumb brushing up and down on his stomach as you rested your hands against him.

Things like this had been happening more too, touches between the two of you. You were usually the one to instigate them unless Daryl was feeling brave but they were there and Daryl was hyper aware of them all.

He knew he liked you, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t. Some part of him figured you liked him too, God he sounded like an idiot with all this does she like me does she not crap, but he was never quite brave enough to ask, to make a move. Instead he told himself the lingering touches were enough.

For years the lingering touches were enough, they had to be because whilst the two of you were brave enough to leave your town behind neither of you were brave enough to make the first move. For years you and Daryl had been at each other's side, travelling the country on Daryl’s homemade bike that had broken down plenty and despite all your protests to use the money you’d both earned doing odd jobs to buy a new bike Daryl refused to budge.

You don’t know what was different about tonight. Maybe it was because you’d made your way out to the west coast, the air cool as the sun had long since set and the moon cast a soft glow over the water in front of you and Daryl.

Maybe it was because it reminded you of a time many years ago when you had first realised you had like Daryl. It wasn’t much different than this night except instead of the massive stretch of ocean it was a river and where there had been nothing but twigs and dirt here there was warm sand.

Back then Daryl had been covered head to toe in bruises whereas now his skin was clear with the exception of a few scars that would never heal, scars that still ached him to this day.

Maybe it was just the kind of night where you reminisce and feel a sense of longing for a future that could be, a sense of regret for all the lost moments because neither one of you were brave enough to just tell the other how you felt. It was the kind of night where you realised that one day things could change before you knew it and you’d kick yourself for wasting the opportunity to tell Daryl how important he was to you, hate yourself for letting so much time pass where he didn’t know that.

Or maybe it was just the kind of night where you’d had too much to drink.

Either way you were ready, you were ready to say those words to him and you weren’t scared, you had never been scared in the whole time you had known Daryl. You were always safe when you were with him.

“You’re my best friend,” You found yourself saying, they weren’t the words you wanted to say, they weren’t the only words you would say tonight, but they felt like the right ones to start this conversation.

“You’re my best friend too, Y/N/N.” Daryl murmured, turning his head slightly to press his lips to your hair and you were both content to fall back into a peaceful silence, your head on Daryl’s shoulder as you stared at the water.

“Thank you,” You said after a long stretch of quiet and you lifted your head to see Daryl looking at you questioningly. “I never thanked you for getting me, for getting us out of that town. I’m glad we did it together.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for that.” Daryl told you and he smiled at you, this smile was maybe your most favourite one. Daryl didn’t smile for most people but for you he had a whole variety of smiles, this one though, the shy, almost flustered smile was your favourite. “But I’m real glad we left together too, can’t imagine doin’ this without you.”

“And you’ll never have to. You’re stuck with me, Daryl Dixon.” You grinned at him and his smile turned softer as he lifted his hand to your cheek and brushed his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Ain’t no one else in the damn world I’d rather have.” He told you and the two of you just smiled stupidly at each other for a long moment before you were both moving closer at the same time.

Daryl’s lips were slightly chapped as they brushed against yours, your eyes falling shut at the first touch. Neither of you had much experience and the kiss was slow and a little uncoordinated but felt like everything you had been waiting all those years for. It was every cliche in the book finally getting to kiss Daryl and you practically melted against him as you kissed until the need for air was too much and even then Daryl chased after your lips and placed small kisses against yours as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Waited so long to do that.” Daryl murmured against your lips, leaning forward to place a soft kiss against your lips again.

“Me too.” You breathed out, eyes finally opening as you leaned your forehead against Daryl’s and the two of you looked at each other with flushed faces and smiles pulling at your lips.

You had just met up with Merle back in Georgia when things had gone south. At first it didn’t seem like a big deal, just find some shelter, and stay inside for a few days which then turned into cities being bombed and communications being shut off and the dead roaming the streets.

If you had thought you were attached to Daryl’s side before this then it was nothing compared to now, you were practically his shadow, his hand always gripped in yours unless he needed to use his crossbow which made you wince each time.

Daryl knew you were scared, hell he was freaked out too though he had to do a damn good job of hiding it to make sure you didn’t panic more than you were. It had been easy at the start, he had told you it was just a virus or something, that it’d be fixed in weeks and the two of you would be back on the bike in no time.

Instead you’d somehow ended up with a group, being told that the cities were dangerous and bombs had been dropped. The first night in the camp you had cried for the first time in years and Daryl felt helpless, this wasn't something he could fix but he could damn well protect you, in all the years you’d known Daryl one of the things you had always told him was that he made you feel safe and that wasn’t about to change now.

So he did what he could to keep you safe. This time it was his job to make sure you were fed, when supplies ran low he gave you his share of food and water, you didn’t know of course, God he could already hear the argument if you were to find out. Any time there was danger, whether it be the walkers or fighting in the group, Daryl was always quick to put himself between you and it, much to the amusement of Merle but Daryl didn’t give a damn about whatever his brother had to say so long as you were safe. He kept you close to him, you were never out of his eyeshot, when night came he spent it waking up every few hours to make sure you were still safe and tucked against his chest.

Daryl didn’t know what the hell was going to happen, the world had fallen apart in front of them with no sign that it was going to fix itself. Daryl wasn’t holding out much hope of a cure like the rest of the group were, he could tell you wanted to believe in it but didn’t want to get your hopes up. He hated seeing the realisation on your face when you figured this was it for the world now but then he watched you look at him and some of the despair faded.

The world might have gone to shit but you and Daryl still had each other. Families had been separated but you and Daryl had been lucky to still have the other, something you would never take for granted. You didn’t know how you were meant to survive this, especially not when months later you’d all found out there really was no cure. You were still that scared kid from all those years back who jumped at every noise heard in the woods leading to the river but then, just like now, you had Daryl.

Daryl had one job, he promised himself it years before the world fell to pieces, and that was to keep you safe. It was a promise that was more important now than ever before. He trained you to track, something he had tried to do throughout the years but you always laughed it off, this time you listened to what he had to say because you knew it really was the difference between life and death. He taught you how to use a gun and he hated seeing you with it but he knew it had to be done just in case something happened to him and he couldn’t get to you.

Daryl had one job and that was to keep you safe and he would damn well make good on that promise and get you to whatever hope there was in a future after all of this, and there had to be something for you at the end of this, he’d make sure of that too.

__________

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PISSIN' OUR PANTS YET?

💕Pairing: Negan x Reader x Daryl

📝Summary:

Walking through the paths of solitude in a diseased and silent world, you come across the memory of the old civilisation.

Stumbling across the highness of it you stay and discover that curiosity does not kill the cat but brings a change for good or bad. In its throne sits a king in a leather jacket, pointing at you with a wired bat and he asks you who you are.

Will your answer make the good reign or will hell unleash upon?

✏️Genre/au: Canon, The Walking Dead fanfiction, Action, Smut, Sci-fi, Complicated Romance, Strangers to lovers

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: mentioned on each chapter

⚠️chapter warnings: Smut, explicit smut, gore and blood, tirany, surveillance, toxic relationships, manipulation (+ warnings on each part), dub-consent, non-consent

A/N: Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊

This is a long going story 👀 Expect it to be posted every 14 days on Wednesday 😊

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

Chapter 1: HAIL TO THE KING

Chapter 2: MATCH IN THE GAS TANK

Chapter 3: THE ROAD

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Chapter 18:

Chapter 19:

Chapter 20:

Chapter 21:

Chapter 22:

Chapter 23:

Chapter 24:

Chapter 25:

Chapter 26:

Chapter 27:

Chapter 28:

Chapter 29:

Chapter 30:

© 2018-2024 Cherry Soulth, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, or unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

Pissin' Our Pants Yet?- Chapter 1: Hail To The King

💕Pairing: Negan x Reader 

✏️Genre/au: Canon, Action, Smut, Sci-fi, The Walking Dead Fic

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 10.581

⚠️chapter warnings: Shitloads of cursing, Gore details (zombies), Mentions of cults, mentions of cult practices, dictatorship status

<<<𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2 >>>

Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

From the other side of the road, as you make your way out of the last line of trees, you observe the huge mall again. The cracks on the asphalt as nature is taking over extend to the building. Decorative trees and plants around the parking lot and the entrance have also grown wild but not enough to cover the vision from the top to bottom windows. Once more, showing the coast is clear, after observing the building for two days. 

The image of isolation and abandonment of the huge mall in front of you is almost melancholic. You remember when places like this would be a spectacle of the consumerism the world was drowning in. When the green papers were all that was important in the first world. That is over now. That simbol of power holds it no more. It can't buy you food, drinks, a safe place or help anymore.

Now it's you against everyone else in order to survive, in order to keep your integrity. Who you are. Your mind, your heart and soul.

Inside the abandoned building, the floor is a display of dead bodies. Most of them are already too rotten to distinguish anything but bones inside the putrid flesh. Some bodies are missing big chunks or parts of their corpse, probably chewed off after being attacked. Most people perished only a few days after all of this started, only to rise again and take others with them.

It couldn’t have been more than a week later, when the silence started to reign and little groups started to form. Suddenly there was nothing left. Just those things walking the streets, attacking anything alive that crossed their path; this rekindled the real need for community to help each other survive for some, or unleashed the perverse desires of those with sick minds and souls. 

You thank the fact that most of the windows are shattered in tiny pieces all over the place, so the air can flow and freshen, otherwise, it would be unbreathable. When everything started, owners of places like this tried to close the establishments and people would break in for supplies. Most of the malls and supermarkets miles around are in similar condition, which makes them accessible, but unlikely to be a good place for shelter or to hold any supplies anymore.

Fresh meat is all those walking dead care about, because they lack the mind to think. No reasoning, no feelings; just an extreme hunger keeps them walking their senseless steps. One can cut them in half and they will still crawl with their meatless fingers to try and take a bite.

As scary as that can be, they are still less dangerous than people. The cannibals, who prefer to chase people for meat instead of animals. The rapists, the thieves, the murderers… All of those can use their brains to do what can only be held by nightmares. That's what rules were made for in the olden days, before all this, to keep them at bay. There are no rules anymore. Chaos has won. A deceivingly silent chaos that makes you forget there's a lot to fear sometimes.

To your surprise, the place hasn't been scavenged yet, probably due to the horde gathered inside, as the remains and waste suggest. Maybe it was even that what broke the windows; a large amount of eaters, attracted to a sound from outside could perfectly pressure the windows until they shattered.

The dead creatures are not interested in canned goods, pasta or dried food, that you know, and seeing that those things are untouched or have just fallen to the floor to a sloppy passerby, gives the cue. And, there's the fact, the parking lot is packed. Meaning, that whoever went inside never left or it's long gone.

Clearing up the walkers still standing their ground or rather not standing at all, you manage to go around the mall without too much trouble. There are only three food stores and you collect from them, filling your trunk with enough food to last you for a long time. The place is mainly formed by retail shops and now that the food thing is sorted, you take the opportunity to walk through them on the first floor. You are checking for things you can actually use but you enter one of the fanciest ones, led only by curiosity, maybe a sense of nostalgia; fascinated by the frivolity that life used to be, before you hear a couple of trucks draw near. 

Your caution to observe the place for so long before taking your chances of intrusion was based on the fact that some hordes act like programmed computers with the order to go back to a determined spot at a certain time after they have been roaming out. That’s the case, at least, if they haven't been disturbed or led away by something more interesting; and for what concerns you: there’s none. Even the squirrels are careful not to touch the ground these days.

During that time you've also been looking for fresh human trails on the little woods surrounding the building and when you’ve been sure everything is clear, you have finally given in to the urge for supplies.

You have taken the ugly car you've been using lately, driving it from the dirt road inside the woods to the parking lot. The thing is dirty, rusty and the left window on the back left passenger has a full crack on it covered with tape; not the fanciest thing to drive, but unlikely to be stolen or draw attention to. It even has low consumption, so it works well enough for you; for however long that may be.

You hide behind a column to watch and evaluate the situation, and soon you notice they are not alone. There are two vans with them and they are parking at the entrance of the building that, for good or bad, doesn't have its large doors anymore, as the remains are scattered all over the floor. You start thinking of a strategy to get out of there, but you know they might see you through the windows, and, if not, they will definitely do it when you start the car; and the thing can't really speed up for an escape, that is evident. You decide to keep hidden while listening to what's happening with the new arrivals, to assess how bad the situation really is. Hoping they might just grab supplies, if they are interested in any of the ones that are left, and then leave.

You hear that they are getting organised in the hall with their combat boots cracking and squishing, glasses and rotten flesh at their pass. When they stop you can hear that someone is organizing the scavenging party, if that is really what they are. There's not much time left to hide so after looking around, you move to another column, one with a clothing shelf attached to it, with more room to hide, leaving you in a blind angle from the windows and the corridors outside the shop. Your idea is to get out of there when everybody is inside the shops, but there are a couple of sets of footsteps going to your floor. 'Fuck my life!' you think. The adrenaline starts to accelerate your heartbeat and causes your body to tremble, ready to run, instincts prepared to take over.

Rationally, you know there is no way you will actually manage to get out of there without being noticed, especially the windows because there is no good place to hang before jumping to the concrete. The only option is to stay hidden, trying to lower your breath and your heartbeat, only the first being possible, thinking they will probably not stay too long in a luxury shop. Probably. After all, you're here just because you were curious. 'Fuck my fucking life!' you curse again 'That's karma for not getting the hell out of here after getting the supplies'. You know how dangerous people can be, thinking briefly about the people you'd already lost. For a second you're almost blocked by the sight of blood in your memories, still able to hear the screams, bile raising in your throat. You hear a single person entering the shop, your heartbeat so strong you're worried they might be able to hear it. Struggling to contain your breath.

"Look at this fancy stuff!" drawls a deep throaty baritone voice that makes you shiver the wrong way, to someone outside. "My wives are gonna pick a fight to see who screws me first!!" And he laughs, making your knees weak. 'Focus! Fuck!'.

That one second you put your guard down, processing his words, you are too late to notice he's going in your direction. Steps getting closer and closer, heavy, revealing he's probably a big dude. He hasn't seen you because he's coming from behind the shelf, but when you move, trying to be as silent as possible, it does not work. You know right away he's noticed you because the place falls into tomb silence. He has stopped his advance but you can still hear the people moving outside. He doesn't say anything immediately, waiting for you to settle into your new position. 

"Oh, so, I have company! Come out, come out, wherever you are…" he sings while he starts walking slowly. You freeze. there is no escape, sooner or later he'll catch you. You are fast, very fast but it sounds like there are too many of them. You don't know what will happen next but you don't move, in a futile hope he thinks there's no one there. Again, it doesn't work as he says: "C'mon! I don't want to repeat myself! Show the fuck up, you dickless fuck!"

As you take your gun out of the side of your belt,  you make one of your fast master moves to get in front of him, pointing the gun straight to his head, holding it with just one hand. You don't have that much munition on you: nine bullets. But You don't know these people or their intentions, and you are not the kind to give up without a fight. You will leave without a kill if you can, though.

"Well! Look. at. you! You definitely don't have a dick, do you?" You look at the man in front of you. An alpha male with handsome features. Thin almond, brown eyes, a big smile with dimpled cheeks and even if his hair is pure black his beard is a mix of salt and pepper. Tall, more than six feet. Black leather jacket, red scarf and a wired bat on his right shoulder. He looks like he's fucking trouble personified. 'The kind of trouble I would have loved to get into some time ago' you think. But you don't look down, even if you know he wants you to surrender. "You have a name, pretty thing?" He seems amused by your intent to hold your ground but there's something else you can't read. His presence is intimidating, although, at this very moment, he isn't trying to be.

You don't answer, but remove the gun's safety with the thumb without moving it an inch from where you're pointing, in a practiced move to let him know you will use it if you have to. But you try to keep your face emotionless. 'I won't if you don't. Please, don't make me shoot you, handsome'. It wouldn't be personal anyway, this is the way the world is now, for everyone. You kill or die, and you are not willing to die today.

"Oh, that's cute! Are you really gonna shoot me!?" He asks with his smile unfaltering, yet his eyes are dark and dominant. He takes a step forward and it's like his presence can swallow you whole. You feel like your blood is no longer flowing to your fingers but rushing to your brain and feet, urging you to run away. 'Your mother would be ashamed of you.' you hear a darker voice inside your head. Shame. Guilt. You shoot next to his head, missing on purpose.

"Let me leave." You say, frowning. Trying to scare him, but when he chuckles the adrenaline takes over and your amygdala chooses the worst option; you freeze. 'Am I scared? I'm the one with the gun, why the fuck am I scared?' He takes a step further, knowing you didn't miss.

"Ooh! So you do have a voice! How rude of you not to answer me then. Nonetheless to shoot…" He nods, cheeky. You see him wetting the center of his lips with his tongue. The way he moves and advances gives you the certainty that he's a step ahead of you. He knew you weren't going to shoot him as he knows you won’t do it just now, but that means he probably knows why. And you don't, because you can't even explain how you feel. He really doesn't look as scary as you instinctively know he is. 'I'm not scared. Intimidated? What the fuck am I feeling?'. He likes it, that you keep it cool in front of him, you can tell. You haven't lowered the gun, your hand is not shaky and you know your poker face is standing still. Practice makes perfect, they say. You distinguish by the sparkle on his eyes and the way he grins, that he likes you. There's lust there too but most men these days have it. Just as if the world going to shit and at least half of humanity is erased or turned into walking corpses tells them to try and repopulate the world. Or they were simply always lustful. Two more steps. 'Focus!'.

"I'm not rude, I just don't know who you are…" You say trying not to take a step back even though his energy is telling you to do exactly that. You can't avoid taking a look at the inside of his jacket as he moves, the black tee enhancing the broad chest and the narrow hips. He exudes virility through every pore but the worst thing is that you've done this while he was looking and now he has a Chesire grin. He probably thinks you want him. 'But you don't, do you?'.

"Hi, I'm Negan." You hear footsteps near, inside the shop, probably some other members attracted by the sound of the gunshot. The gun lowers unavoidably to his chest, he is intimidatingly just four steps in front of you now.

"I'm Alice." You don't know why but you smile at him, it is more a kind of nervous smile but still a damn smile. 'Fuck!'. Another two steps and he grabs your gun by the cannon. He is starting to get at the tip of your personal space, almost on top of you. 'God… His body is so warm...' your little demon whispers inside of you. You shut it down immediately.

"See, that's a sweet name. Hope you are too." a wide smile gleams at you. He seems to find the situation amusing. "I hope this is not your Wonderland, Alice. Because we are about to take every last nice thing from this place."

"Knock yourself out. Not the owner." You lose the grip on the gun and he puts it on the back of his jeans subjected by the belt, taking another step, now invading your personal space. 'I get it handsome, you are the boss now, but get a step closer and I'll knock those pearly whites out in a second.'. If his intentions are the wrong ones you are fucked. The low footsteps become really fast and before you know it, someone is pointing a gun to your temple. "Threesomes are really not my thing, you know?" you grill to the holder. Negan laughs loudly.

"She's funny! Isn't she?" he points out to the man on your right and this one also laughs, just less enthusiastic. Looking by the corner of your eye it's obvious to you he'll shoot you without thinking twice if the other one asks. 'Then Negan is their leader...? Of course, he's their leader…' Someone adds to the party, pinning the barrel of a sniper to your back, making you straighten up even further.

"Definitely not foursomes." you keep your cool but you know if they do try to do what some male groups do these days, you will be better dead. "You guys can do whatever the fuck you want. Just be sure I'm dead after, or in between because I'll make you regret the day you were born." You bile out. "Ah. And don't expect me to do shit!" You say, cold fire burning on your words. 'I should have tried to jump out the window and try to get to the car. Now I'll have to try to kill them all…' your hands open at each side, ready to grab the throwing knives on your belt. Negan stops smiling, and you expect him to grab you or something, but he looks stern.

"Oh! That's a no-no, sweetheart. We do not rape. I'm not gonna touch you. At least. 'Till you say so." he replies in a significant tone, giving you a naughty smile with his last sentence. When you raise a brow to it, he winks at you while he bites the tip of his tongue. "You have my word, darlin' " you sense he means it, but you stare at him for a long time without moving, before you allow the tension in your shoulders to slowly release. "Guys, come on, don't be rude. She's unarmed, ain't you, doll?" They immediately lower their weapons but Negan pulls you towards him by the hips making the tension return. He starts pulling and throwing to the floor the three throwing knives and the hunting knife on your waistband. "Pick'em up," he tells his man without taking his eyes away from you. "See, sweetheart, things are easy peasy when everybody cooperates." He smiles again. "Here, my folks and I, are part of a community, the Sanctuary, a civilized place with rules and all that good stuff! And you know what? Rape is a shit I don't take in my house. Hell, I, wouldn't want to be in a community where the leader allows such things to happen! Whoever does something of that magnitude, ends up meeting Lucille here. The wrong way!" he says, talking proudly, putting the bat between you two. 'A bat with a name. Cool. Just like when guys used to put pet names on their dicks. Now they do to their weapons.' you think, but you can't avoid to wonder 'Why does the bat have a female name?'. "You two will get along. We might just make a threesome one day." He swings his brows to you while he bites his lower lip and your eyebrows get to a height you didn't think they could reach. 'What the fuck is he talking about!? Is that a threat?'. "Just kidding! You already said you don't like threesomes, haven't you?" He chuckles carefree and you guess it is just his kind of humor. "Where were we…? Oh, yeah. The folks that came with me to scavenge today, are the Saviors and there’s a bunch more back home. If you work hard you'll become one of 'em. Or you can become a wife." He opens his arms and gestures with his hand as if he wants you to hug him. 'You gotta be kidding me…'. "I would sincerely love that..." he concedes in a low lustful tone, then winks and smiles showing his teeth. 'Damn. He's hot!' your demon speaks up again but you don't smile back, just raise a brow, 'Become his wife? Bitch. what. the. fuck?'. You can't lie to yourself: you like him, but marriage? Out of the blue? Who is this guy? You look around, the guys are still there checking the shop in case there's someone else hiding, giving you two some privacy. 

They seem to think he has everything under control. And he probably does. But you don't remember saying you were going to follow him and you don't like people making decisions for you. You already know he's a player, so you know exactly how to let him know that about yourself. Also, it's the end of the world, a little game won't kill anybody. Cutting the last distance, you are just at the right height. His eyes follow your movements but he doesn't move, nor does he seem to have the intention to do so. 

"Who said I'm joining?" you whisper close to his mouth and display a lopsided smile. His eyes reveal that he knows what you're doing and chuckles.

"So you do have nuts, hn?" He whispers too, and licks his lower lip from the side to the center, playfully showing his pearls while putting his chin up slightly. You know it’s because of how you did it: privately. Telling him you know he is the boss but you are not a sheep.

"A pair of ovaries bigger than a nut-sack, yes." You say distractedly, putting some distance between you two without breaking eye contact and something shines in Negan's eyes. He invades your personal space again just with his head towards your face as if he's going to kiss you, but changes the course to your left ear. 

"We'll continue this later." His warm breath in your earlobe sends a shiver through your spine, his closeness allowing your senses to take him in. He smells like leather, cedarwood and musk, clean. To that your skin bristles and you just feel like you could plunge on his neck to keep smelling him. You hold yourself. Regaining his straight position he puts his left arm around your shoulders to lead you. The two Saviors guarding Negan follow you when they notice. Approaching the railing you see the rest of the group putting things inside the two trucks parked in the center of the hall.

"Dwighty boy, would you be so kind and hold Lucille for me. Treat her with love, I think she's a little jealous." Negan passes the bat to a blonde guy with half his face burned. Avoiding looking at him for too long, out of respect, knowing you might make him feel uncomfortable, you look at the members of the group. Freeing you from his grip Negan puts his hands over the rail and whistles, making everybody turn around and look up. "Saviors! Who are you?" He speaks loudly for all of them to hear. By the unison answer to the question you realize you are in front of a sort of army group.

"Negan!" You get it straight away. They are one. Submitting to a leader's identity means total surrender. It reminds you of other great cults in history, like Manson with his community, Aum Shinrikyo or Jonestown. They are Negan because they'll follow him no matter what and that scares the hell out of you. Eyes meeting Negan's, he sees you understand. He snakes into your personal space again, whispering in your ear.

"You're a smart ass… Still think you have a choice?" The way he says it makes your body rise in goosebumps, like a frozen breeze caressing your skin. It seems unlikely. Although it doesn't sound like a threat, it's a matter-of-fact realization for you. Sadly, you will accept it, you might even want it. Maybe, with this,  you’ll find a reason to keep yourself going, not just mere survival. Less of a day after day of hiding from people and the walking dead, this is where you find yourself. Even if you are not completely sure how things work, at least they look like they work. 'At least they are not cannibals.' 

"Mhm." You mutter. "Just don't make us drink the Kool-aid..."

He responds with an eyebrow raise and a chesty laugh. "Consider yourself saved then!"  he voices enthusiastically, moving away from you. Civilization, community, laws... For so long, you have lived under the natural law of survival of the fittest, without anything that could stop people from killing or hurting each other. Just the instincts. Survival. Kill or be killed. It sounds pretty good, reliable, but not everything that glitters is gold, and you need to be sure of it before compromising yourself or befriending anyone. After all, you have been taught that trusting people can get you killed. Or worse. 

"Now. These are the rules: You provide for me. If you find something you really like while we are collecting, you can keep it. Unless… you think I might like it more. You obey what I say, you get rewarded. You don't, you get punished. Plain and simple. Are we clear?" You nod gravely, "So, you'll do what the others are doing just now. Useful stuff to the trucks. See?" At this point, you remember about your car.

"Negan?" He looks at you with a grin, interested.

"Hm?" His expression is relaxed as he meets your eyes.

"Is food granted?" 

"Of course, darlin' " He bounces on his knees and you guess that's like a characteristic thing of him. "You can't work if you are starving! You're gonna have some good food if you work for me. As a general fact, Saviors eat well." Even with that notion, you are already tracing an escape plan if things aren't as peachy as they sound. The only thing missing is to see where and how Sanctuary is. 'What if it's a sort of fortress or they lock me down once I'm in?' You start spiralling. 'But they could have harmed me already when it has become obvious that I'm here alone. They have not. I should wait and see, I guess…'. "You'll team up with me, doll. See what you've got in store. Easy-peasy. Chop-chop guys!!" He says hitting the railing with both hands and all the Saviors move back to their tasks. Dwight gives Lucille back to Negan before walking inside the shop where you were just minutes ago, along with the other Savio. "Shall we?" His left arm rests over your shoulders, again and you follow his lead downstairs. 

"Anything you want to tell me darlin'? I see that pretty little head of yours working its pretty wheels." You have your essential backpack with you, ready to flee at any moment, but there are other things in your car. The big stock of food, the clothing, a machete and some other tools that have been helping you survive. "Anything you might wanna share?" The sideways look he gives you with that, makes you think he actually knows what you have. 'How?' you wonder. Paranoia hits, ‘This could have been an ambush, their timing has been accurate, they could have been watching from afar. They sure have the equipment.’ you think, having seen one of them carry a rifle.

"What if I do but I don't tell you?" You ask, trying to sound like you are being cheeky, testing the waters. It doesn't seem to work because he stops dry and tilts his body towards you. 

"Well, in that case, if I find out, I'll take your stuff or your people and I'll throw your pretty ass into a cell until I'm sure you've learned your lesson." His eyes are warning, but his lips hold a mischievous smirk. Then regains his position and keeps guiding you looking forward. "Personally, I think it would be a pretty stupid decision." He mutters without looking at you, giving you the chance to think about it.

"I get that. Well then, I have some supplies in my car you might find interesting." He smiles, pleased, but still doesn’t turn to look. Giving it up willingly seems like a far better option in this case, not that you would in any other, but who knows what that time in a cell really means. If you know where they keep them, you can always get them back in the possibility of an escape. Because, who knows if you would find your stuff where you left it. Someone else could take it while you are away, no matter if that’s just hours; supplies like yours are shining gold.

At the end of the day, what Negan tells you about the Sanctuary does not seem like a bad deal. You have to work to get food and somewhere to sleep safely at night, without having to be half awake to avoid being chewed up or attacked by other breathing creatures. Sounds good to you. There's no rape, or so he says, and that's a lot of tension out of your system. Getting a better look at the group, they actually resemble the kind of people you used to hang out with before everything went ape shit. It could be just appearance because one can't judge a book by its cover and wolves can still dress like sheep, as they say, but it still gives some comfort. 

"Fat Joey!" Negan yells, startling the guy in front of him as he was turning around to see who was getting near him. 

"Where do you need me, boss?" The guy with the bullying nickname obediently asks. 

"See! Our new friend here, Alice, has some good stuff in her car." He points at you then points outside. "I want you to go and bring it all here."

"There are some personal belongings there. I'd rather go by myself." Negan looks at you sideways, probably thinking you are trying to trick him. You turn to face him and meet his eyes directly. "I'm not saying to go alone... I just-Look, I need to take care of it myself, if you don't mind.". You know by now the choice of words is also the difference between life and death, so you rather be careful with what you say and how you say it.

"I'll go with you." He states, briskly walking you both out of the mall. You don't say a word while you get to the car but you are starting to sweat under the Virginian sun. Or maybe because of his closeness; it's been too long since your last human contact. A couple of Saviors are fast to follow you.

"Jesus Chris!" He speaks when you open the trunk with the key. "Were you going to get yourself closed in a bunker? This could have fed you for ages! I have to thank whoever came up with the idea of clearing out this place, otherwise I wouldn't have found you." He whispers sensually in your ear. The octaves in his voice make your emotions shiver under your skin and your breath decides to betray you just a little. Enough for him to notice as he chuckles. "And this pretty stock of yours!" He adds, taking a salmon can out of its package. "This, my dear, has you in my good graces. You are up for a treat!" He moves away enthusiastically but his eyes stain with lust. "Anything you want. No need to ask." Then moves, very close to your face and your eyes fall directly to his lips. Before you are conscious of what you've just done he smirks, "I mean it."

"Good." You answer automatically, turning around to take the other bag and put most of your tools inside. All necessary to avoid the look in his eyes. You know the game you play is dangerous; especially if you can't control yourself.

"What about a: Thank you, Negan?" 'What about a: Suck my toes, you bossy!' You think, still looking inside of the trunk while you try to regain your cold bitch expression. "Or a kiss would be great." He puts a lock of hair that's hanging in front of your face behind your ear. His fingers lightly brush the skin behind it and half your neck before he pulls away. You damn the way your skin raises in goosebumps. "I can tell how much you like me already." His voice is seductive but not as arrogant as before, and you look up to notice he looks a little bit worked up too. His breath is unsteady, his nostrils betraying him, although his position is steady and authoritative.

"Not happening, big bad wolf." You cut him off, taking a deep breath, flickering your lashes and looking at him calmly this time. "Thanks, Negan." You play safe and hooking up with the boss has never been a good choice. 

His scent is burned through your brain and you know he might get in your dreams, but only in the privacy of your head you'll let him do whatever he wants. 

When he makes the pair of men pick up some packages, the two of you head back inside with an arm on you again. Taking in his scent again you stop to think; he smells masculinely clean, very clean, like everyday shower clean and although you're keeping up with your personal hygiene with simple things like brushing your teeth, it's not the same. You're relieved that you washed just yesterday in a river, terribly self-aware, all of a sudden. Not that you care about what he thinks but they all look very much clean and fresh, and you are left to wonder if the camp is near a river.

After leaving your stuff on top of the back seats of one of the trucks, as you were told, you help pick up things from the first floor. Throwing tons of comfy clothes inside of big black bin bags and throwing them over the railing, for one of the Saviors to pick them up, down on the hall. The other guy, Dwight, doesn't have such an easy task as he passes by with boxes and takes them down himself; you guess it’s probably all the fragile, fancy stuff. You wonder what use they will have. When you and Negan move to the next shop, you see in the corner of your eye how another truck has pulled into the parking lot. There's probably too much to take in a three-floor mall that hasn't been overrun.

You are so focused on that fact when you glance at where you are, you go pale. A shop for women's undergarments. One of those where everything has lace or silk or anything that makes it look classy and sexually attractive. You are about to walk out, thinking Negan won't find anything useful there when you see him looking at something on a mannequin, arms crossed over his chest like he's studying it.

"Sorry Negan but this is fucking awkward... I mean what the hell?" He turns over his heels raising his brows.

"I guess you didn't hear me before. I have wives that need my attention." At this point, your brow is starting to hurt. 'Tell me he's not saying what he's saying.' "What? You thought I was abstinent?" He chuckles. 'What a cocky bastard…' "This big dick needs a lot of attention, apart from my ape-”

"Okay, I get the idea." You cut him off with an eye roll and start to look at the articles displayed on the racks next to him. "What are we looking for?"

"It's a surprise you are still here." He chuckles.

"Hum… You said we'd team up, right? I'll leave if you want me to." You start walking away but he grabs you by the forearm.

"I was just kidding," he tells you, awkwardly stern. His mood swings are a thing of madness. "Stay. Why don't you grab something for yourself?" He tells you with a wolf grin, bouncing his knees again. You wonder how he manages to do that all the time without them snapping.

"Nah. I think I'll pass, thank you." This time, you are the one to chuckle and he looks at you as if you had grown another head. "So… I'm looking for...?"

"Whatever you think is hot in sizes Medium and Large." You nod. 'So he likes them curvy, huh.' You walk around the shop putting stuff in a shopping basket. It is a bit strange, especially when Negan stares at you whenever you extend a piece of clothing to take a better look. You simply keep going, taking it like any other job. "You could try them on, be my model..." he suggests. "Oh… You don't know how much I would love to see that." You don't know why you can't contain it but your reaction is to show him your middle finger over the rack you have in front of you, arm extended so he doesn't miss it. You should regret it but you hide a smile behind the top shelf, looking down. To your surprise, you hear him laughing. "Ok, ok, ok." He stops laughing suddenly. "But you better not do that again."

"Sorry, sir…" You reply, dragging the words.

When you go down to the main floor there are some boxes and other stuff placed on the floor, everything fragile and food is being arranged carefully on one of the trucks. As Negan orders you to give a hand while he talks with a big dude with tanned skin, blue eyes and an unfriendly face, you get to know some of the Saviors. 

Arat is a high-ranking member, you guess, as she barks orders around. She's quite young, some years less than you, with curly brown hair with blonde ends and round brown eyes. She has beautiful features but she also looks tough and well-respected amongst the men. Joey, the man who almost gets his paws on your stuff, explains to you about the others as you two carry, place and secure boxes inside of the truck. He looks a little bit on the nervous side, not the toughest kind, but he respects the rules and follows them. His mass helps him with tasks that require strength.

You hear two Saviors, David and Ronald, the dangerous kind of dumb, talk about someone named Jesus from a colony named Hilltop that's under Negan's control. They seem to dislike the guy because he is silent and sneaky and you think you two could get along, just by that fact alone. He seems to be a solitaire when they talk about how Gregory, Hilltop's apparent leader, seems to not have any kind of control over his comings and goings. At the same time, they also think Gregory never seems to know anything and he is constantly making a fool of himself. The gossiping between the two does not surprise you, what does, is the fact that other communities work for Negan. That has to mean he is more powerful than you initially thought and Sanctuary is probably a very big compound.

Once everything is packed and placed, Arat invites you to go on her truck as you two have had the chance to chat for a little bit but Negan claims you'll go with him. So you end up sitting between Negan and Dwight in the front seats of a black truck. You don't know if you are supposed to talk but it doesn't matter because you hear the static of the radio taking anyone’s chance to do so.

"Negan, we have a situation." says a man over the waves.

"What is it?" Negan answers, picking it up from Dwight's right hand.

"Someone attacked the Satellite outpost last night." There you see how Negan's natural grin turns into an angry grimace. "Boss?"

"What in the fucking fuck happened!?" he roars to the radio. "You better have somethin', Simon, 'cause we had a damn project in that fuckin' outpost!"

"I didn't suspect anything until this morning. When they didn't check in, I went there and saw the massacre. Primo is the only survivor. They did the last check out for the night and an unknown group attacked them during their sleep. Someone set the alarm and that's how they could try to defend themselves but they were overpowered." Negan's grip on Lucille, lying on his lap, tightens. So does his jaw. "Primo didn't recognise them."

"Any idea, who the fuck could have done this? Hilltop? The kingdom? They got new people we don't know about?" he asks, calmer this time. 

"We are on it now. I'll find out. Leave it to me." the other man, Simon, replies dutifully.

"Simon." He doesn't wait for him to reply. "I don't think I need to ask this, but, I want them fucking alive, ok? Keep me in the loop, I wanna know every fuckin' detail."

"Yes, sir." answers the other man and you would have sworn his voice wasn't so dutifully this time.

After that, the truck's cabin falls dead silent. Infuriated energy emanates from Negan's body like warmness irradiates from the sun. You are about to say something when Dwight elbows you softly and shakes his head, without taking his eyes from the road. 

Half an hour later, or so it says the clock on the dashboard, Negan clicks out of his thoughts and looks at you, instead of outside the window. 

"So, darlin', are you with a group or something? If it's so, how can they let a pretty thing like you out there alone?" He opens the window and lights a cigarette. 

"I've been alone for the past six months or so. It's hard to tell exactly." You tell him looking at the front of a straight road under the sun. It’s already starting to show refractions, like little waves in the air. "Some things don't even seem real these days… Just like taken out of a movie or a nightmare."

"Yeah, this new world has become some crazy shit." he agrees. "Lucky for you, we found you. No need to be alone anymore..." He winks at you, with a second meaning.

"Don't be so sure I'm the lucky one…" you tell him as a joke but how much you mean that slips a bit through your tone.

"So cocky!" he chuckles. "I can't say I disagree…" his tone matches yours and he looks at you from the corner of his eye, wolf grin attached to a lady killer demeanor. It kind of works to distract you because you look away to avoid the effects and he gets comfortable at your side. 

You can tell he’s still in a bad mood but it's slightly better than it was an hour ago. His head is back to working its wheels as soon as a huge factory appears in the distance but something tells you that's just how he is. A chess master that thinks and sees its opponent's next movements, and for that reason, how to move his own pieces to checkmate. 

It takes you off guard to know this is the building where they live in but it does not surprise you to see a chain link fence full of walkers attached to it. What really does is the people you see inside, working as if the undead were not even a thing. Although most of them look like they could benefit from some rest, food and a shower, as they look exhausted and drained, your attention is grabbed by a group of kids that walk between those people and then disappear behind a metal door. 'Kids!' you think. After all, you've seen happening around, Negan has managed to keep them alive. It strikes you that maybe somewhere in this huge building you may even find a baby, born in this mess, but safe. Sanctuary does feel like a safe place.

Everybody kneels when Negan passes near them. He is like royalty, not just a leader. You can feel that self-confidence oozing from every pore of his body and, since nature tends to lead us, you have become attracted by that since the moment you two crossed eyes. Sure, his handsomeness is more than enough for him to have anyone he wants but powerful confidence equally attracts people; as simple as that. That is what makes him a good leader, he makes people feel like he has the situation under control; people rely on him.

Growing up as the daughter of an army captain you were raised up under the orders of a leader. As cliche, as that is, you know perfectly how to deal with the bad sides of it and how to push the soft spots. Your mum was an exceptional human, a real survivor but nothing prepares you for waking up being attacked by one of your group mates as he died during the night and turned.

As much as she showed you how to manage people, you are still not a hundred percent sure what you are dealing with. Negan has that mysterious vibe and he seems smarter than anybody you have had to deal with while being alone. It has not been that long ago since you were prosecuted by a couple of freaking cannibals that thought you would make a good dinner.

Negan shows you your designated room, a pretty simple thing but it seems to you like a palace after sleeping in abandoned trucks or cars for the last months. Basically, anything logical enough to keep walkers and people away, although, they didn’t always work for breathing creatures. Since there was no one to keep an eye out for you, your sleep was never deep nor were you ever really relaxed. Things were really different when you had a group. 'Maybe things will get better now.'

He asks you to stay there while he's sorting out what happened with the outpost. You realize that if there is an outpost, and from the line of the conversation there is more than one, plus the amount of "saved" people in the building, there has to be a really big amount of Saviors. Now you can kiss goodbye to the idea of escaping this place. You are kind of sure that if this place works as you think, and from what you have just seen so far you are kind of certain of it, there is no way you are leaving by the front door alive. So this is your life now, at least till you outsmart the system if you don’t want to stay. Right now, you are willing to stay, maybe out of curiosity or longing for some normal human interaction, because loneliness has been messing with your head sometimes. 

You go around exploring every inch of your new home, a full apartment with its own kitchen, bed and even a television. You have a wardrobe but not much to put in it, so you decide to leave your bag inside for the moment. While you are thinking about how much you want to get a nice sleep in that bed, someone knocks.

"May I come in?" you hear Dwight on the other side of the door.

"Yeah," you say, turning to face him as he enters with a towel and toiletries on one of his arms.

"Negan wants you to get ready for tonight, shower and stuff... Umm... He said you can go to the market and pick up something cool in the clothes section." You wonder what this is all about. “Do I not look cool in this?” you fake to be offended. You wear a long brown jacket, a little oversized black T-shirt, jeans and military boots, everything is really used but it has worked for you so far. "Negan said he wants you to look more like... yourself." Indeed you don't look like you usually did. 'But how does he even know that?'. 

You definitely look like some generic person if there was one but that is the point, to look less like a fighter as possible. If people underestimate you there’s a higher chance of getting out of trouble. You think he is going to say something else but he leaves the stuff on top of your bed and bids you to follow him with a gesture. 

The market in Sanctuary is a place where people can exchange points for stuff, as you have been explained earlier. The points system is a mere euphemism for capitalism, using points instead of bills. The same exhaustion of living to work and not working to live is pictured on every person you walk by, as you take a good look at the stands before catching up with Dwight. There are such things as pharmacy, devices, food, toiletries, etc. Still, though you don't think whatever is there of basic living supplies is affordable for these people and you start to feel concerned about their situation and how abusive Negan might be.

Once at the clothes stand you find a pair of black fake leather trousers, an over the hips, bordeaux red top and a black denim, rocker jacket with some scratches. You grab another pair of military boots, these ones have some height on the heel, one and a half inches probably, and a pair of thin socks.

"Do I have enough points from today for this?" you ask, not sure about who may know that.

"This one is on the house." 'Is it a reward or an owe me kind of thing?' you are not sure, your confusion must be visible as he quickly says. "We-The Saviors don't exactly work with counted points anyway. You earn what you take, as Negan says."

"Oh... ok, I just need a couple of thigh holsters then and I'm done. If that's possible. My speciality is throwing knives. " He doesn't seem to mind. Now that you notice he doesn't look very happy either, although he's a Savior and you wonder why. His life should be easy in comparison with the people working around you, yet he looks… sad. Maybe his burned face has something to do with it.

"I'll find someone to look for it. You should get ready, I'm starting to get hungry.” Without another word, he heads back to the stairs and you hurry to follow him through the corridors, knowing for sure you will need to walk around to get to know the building. Once you pick up the stuff from your room he leads you through, again, to a community shower and waits on the other side of the door. You have good expectations of clean water but when you turn on the shower a hot one comes out. “No fucking way!” You quickly get under the water and get rid of all the dirt on your body, feeling like you are washing some of your scepticism with it too. You are not up for a brain wash though, you've been here for less than an hour and you already know Negan is indeed a dictator. He favours those who work directly for him but those who work for the system are not in a good shape or happy at all. You've also seen, along with respect and somehow admiration, the fear in some of them. Deep in their tired eyes, hooked to the bone. It makes you even more aware of how careful you need to be with Negan and those who respond to that name. He's not even close to being a saint, the only good thing is that he hasn't tried to make you think he is.

After you get dried and dressed with your new purchases, you decide to fast dry the last remains of dripping water from your hair with the towel and make a single French braid, leaving a couple of tufts on the sides. You hear a knock on the door and that unique voice.

"Having fun in there?" says Negan with his characteristic chuckle. "Do you need help?" he adds in a seductive tone. "I can wash your back... Maybe you ca-"

"I'm done," you reply, opening the door. You find him just a few inches in front of you with Lucille on his shoulder. It seems like it's his natural posture as if she was meant to be there. "Is this cool enough for you?"

"Fuck yeah, it is! You look like you could kick a couple of asses just batting those lashes! You would make a hell of a badass wife!" he chuckles again as he raises a brow and looks you up and down. "I knew it! That glare…" he fakes a shiver. "I knew the second I saw you pointing at me with that gun, that you, were something else... You have something that tickles--"

"Are you talking about the fact that you think and I am smart enough to know how to play your game? Or the fact that I'm cool as f-word?" you take a little breath but you don't let him answer. "If it's the second, I would be surprised, as I didn't think that was a requirement to join the team... especially after seeing some of your guys." Uttering those sentences you've kept eye contact, and you hear a cracked chuckle coming out of his throat but he doesn't answer. He seems to think you are funny, which isn't exactly a bad thing but there are a couple of points you wanna make clear, as carefully as you can. For some reason, you don't feel like Negan is necessarily a threat, to you, but you are aware that it could be a misinterpretation and pointing these things out, could put you at risk. Even with that thought, you feel like he might have already read underlines and judged your character. "I understand, all you have done until now is being nice to me. It gives the impression that you think that because I'm a woman and I'm alone, I might be somehow... inoffensive." you put your hands at the side of your hips. "I would be offended if it wasn't because that's the exact image I've been trying to portray.” In response to that, his eyes somehow show lust but he seems to want to listen more. "Or maybe, you have second intentions which are not exactly offensive but bothering as I have no intention to become your entertainment. Sir." you have to take a step back because this time it's been you who invaded his personal space getting on your tiptoes close to his face. At this point, he's looking at you wide-eyed. Surprised you had the balls to confront him. 

"Oou-holly shit! I hope there's more smartass prattle where that came from!" he does his thing with the knees again and says with a husky tone, that tells you exactly where your attitude has hit. "I like you. I really do. I think you'll do great things here. And truly, I want to have your pretty face by my side, one way or another." he smiles, closing up the space between your faces. "Now… I'm being nice to you because I can read you like an open book. I also know if I do shit to you I'll not sleep well afterwards." 'Yes, I would take that chance to slit your throat' you think, even if you know what he means. Quite sweet. "You are kinda special. I'm not sure what... But I have that feeling that tickles my nut sack that you'll surprise me with a magic trick." He cuts off the short space between you two with a wolf grin. You can breathe his scent and feel his breath over your nose. It drives you crazy long enough to think of grabbing his face between your hands and kissing his lips slowly. Then when he opens his mouth to answer your kiss, you would kiss his underlip from one side to the other before making it deeper. 'Holy shit! Those hormones giiirl!' you feel the need to throw a cold bucket over yourself but decide some mental hold will have to do. You get back to reality to notice he smiles at you. You are looking at his lips not his eyes anymore. It was so obvious that you feel like he knows what you just thought. "I can't wait to see what you hold for me, sweetheart." You look into his eyes again, blush staining your cheeks as you start to feel a real need to kiss him. He puts his free arm around your waist, pulling you towards him, getting closer to your lips.

"Boss, I've been looking for you…" you hear someone behind him, Negan is annoyed, you feel the tension in his body but you tap your hand on his chest to make him react. He moves and turns just enough for the other man to see what he interrupted. "Sorry boss. I didn't notice you were in such good company." You take a look at the tall man with a seventies moustache and dangerous eyes. "Hi, I'm Simon." he introduces himself with a cheeky smile.

"Hi, I'm Alice," you reply, a little bit more serious than you intended. You feel Negans' body language change to a 'Dude, fuck off!!' so you take a step back making Negan release you. He looks at you for a moment with deep eyes but turns back to Simon, flexing his legs and making a gesture saying 'What an inappropriate moment, Simon!' then returns to his smile.

"Let's meet the rest of the team, shall we?" says Negan. You don't move immediately, so he puts his arm over your shoulders to lead you and looks at Simon sideways over your head. As you two enter the common area followed by the mustache-man, every Savior kneels to Negan. He asks you to stay behind him and listen carefully. So you do. Everybody keeps silent.

"Tonight I'm pissed," says Negan in a harsh tone, loud enough for everyone to hear. "This afternoon, I was having my hot diggity dog moment after a succulent scavenging. Then Simon here tells me: Satellite has been overrun and some of my Saviors have been murdered while they were sleeping!" he gives a second for people to react before talking again. "Ooh... and that, THAT, is a grave NO-NO! I'm not gonna let shit like that happen and do nothin' about it… My guys deserve at least to die fighting, not to be stabbed in their back while they are not looking!" he looks furious about it. "Who the hell does that anyway? A coward!" The crowd voices their agreement "Whoever did this, has to pay! So I want every search party putting all their asses to work hard on knowing which kind of DICKLESS SHIT did this to my men." he takes another pause. "I want you to bring them to me and let Lucille make justice! Now, who are you?"

"Negan!!" They all answer and he smiles proudly.

After his speech you follow him downstairs to where the others are, he introduces you to the higher ranks of the Saviors.  Arat gives you a nod in recognition while you walk around. You see others look at you and whisper to the man at their side. You don't need to be very smart to guess why or what they might be saying.

"You'll get to meet everybody else as the days go by. I don't want you to get stressed with names just now." Negan adds with a smirk. 'Too nice…' "You'll need to use that brain of yours for other matters. Names ain't important right now."

You start to walk away from Negan as Simon and Dwight approach to talk to him. You don't want to get into other people's business, as curious as you might be about what's really going on in this place. You notice Arat calling you over with her hand and you decide to go see what she might want. She offers you a beer as soon as you get close enough and you gladly accept it. 'Oh my... a cold beer!' you think. Not that you are very enthusiastic about alcohol but you still appreciate it with the weather.

"My mates and I here were wondering what your speciality is. We guess that if you are not with the wives by now, Negan must have seen something beyond that pretty face," says Gavin, one of the high ranks in the group. Without a word, you quickly take two knives from Arat’s belt and throw them just behind Gavin. He turns to see that five yards from his position, on the dart game, there is one knife in the bulls-eye and the other less than half an inch on top of it. Perfectly lined up.

"Yes, in fact, he sees something," says Arat winking at you. "I guess you really don't need to talk to send a message." she chuckles taking a sip.

"I guess you can't really talk with his dick in your mouth. Do the bruises on your knees hurt, pussycat?" says a big dude with a bully face. You smile as you approach him.

"It must be harsh, that women don't like brainless assholes like you," you say with a cold smile in your eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice and approaches to grab your ass. 

"I know little sluts like you would do anything for status and not have to do a thing. That's why he has so many wives," he says, lowering his voice in a wannabe intimidating tone. As close as he is and still grabbing your ass, you grab him by the crotch and squeeze so hard he yelps. 

"You'll be surprised what I can do with what you lack off," you say as he starts to turn white from pain. "By the way, I'm talking about the mind, honey. Not all of us are only flesh and bone without the capacity of reasoning like you." Then you let him go and punch him right in the left side of the jaw with all your strength. "That's to show I don't need a man to do anything for me." then on the right. "That one's for grabbing my butt. That's not the way to treat a lady. You prick." to that he falls to the ground k.o. "Who's this?" you ask in a despectively still breathing fast from the effort of knocking down a massive body while pointing at him. At that very moment, you notice the room has fallen silent.

"His name is George," says Arat, her eyes still wide open in surprise. You start to hear a slow clap from the side and when you turn to look, you see Negan with a wide smile.

"Fuck me, darlin'. You have quite a temper, don't you? Look! He's lying there like dead weight and you ain't even that tall!" He’s almost laughing.  "Remind me not to mess with you. I do appreciate my balls," he says, invading your personal space. 'I fucking get it! Your man, your rules.' You think for yourself relaxing the way you look at him. 'Why does this dude has to be so hot…?' "Someone take this poor fucking cunt to our dear doctor, please." To that, you see two guys scurrying over to get him. "Now, sweetheart, let's get you something to eat. That must have left you hungry." Negan is already leaving, but turns his face over his shoulder and says. "Oh! But first things first." then turns on his heels. "Who are you?" 

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

Masterlist

Started: 9/30/24

Updated: 10/10/24

Total Works: 5

The Walking Dead:

Finding Myself, Finding You:

➼ Chapter One

➼ Chapter Two

➼ Chapter Three

➼ Chapter Four

➼ Chapter Five

➼ Chapter Six

➼ Chapter Seven

➼ Chapter Eight

➼ Chapter Nine

➼ Chapter Ten

➼ Chapter Eleven

➼ Chapter Twelve

➼ Chapter Thirteen

➼ Chapter Fourteen

➼ Chapter Fifteen

➼ Chapter Sixteen

➼ Chapter Seventeen

Incorrect Quotes (I guess that's what I'd call these):

➼ Original Idea #1

➼ That one Tiktok Audio

➼ Original Idea #2

➼ Original Idea #3

Oneshots (coming soon):

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fourteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing (there's swearing in every chapter ok), description of nightmares, description of violence (description of a walker attacking someone), mention of scars

Word count: 2.7k

Daryl and I kept our conversation going on the ride back to Alexandria, but my mind was definitely in other places. I loved talking with Daryl, and being in his presence, but damn if this man didn’t make me nervous like a 13-year-old girl talking to her middle school crush. He was easy to talk to, and despite his usual frosty and callous attitude towards others, there was a welcoming and safe energy about him, one that I didn’t find anyone else talking about. When we had conversations, he was attentive, seemed interested, asked follow-up questions & remembered the things I said. He was a self-proclaimed tough guy, but the Daryl that I got to see, when it was just the two of us, dare I say, was a bit of a softie.

After a little while, I was starting to recognize the area and figured we must’ve been getting close to Alexandria, which my ravenous stomach was thankful for.

“Can I ask ya a question?” Daryl asked, “if ya don’t wanna answer, it’s fine.”

“Uh, sure,” I answered nervously, wondering where he possibly could’ve been going with this, especially considering this was the first time he’d prefaced asking me a question by asking if he could.

“Ya said ya’d been havin’ nightmares for some time,” he said. My stomach began to lightly churn at the thought of the different directions in which he could take this. “Ya had ‘em a long time?”

“Uh, no. They only started after the world went to shit,” I explained. I wiggled my toes in an attempt to keep myself calm.

“They always been the same?” Daryl asked. I shook my head.

“So they used to be the same thing every night. I would be crossing the stage at a ceremony after getting board-certified. I’d look out at the audience and see my parents and brothers in the front row, looking so proud as their only daughter and sister became an official fully licensed surgeon. Then I look out at the audience again and see a walker coming down the aisle towards my family. He goes up to my mother and attacks her, and she screams, then everyone starts screaming. He bites her in the neck and tears her vocal cords, and when her screaming stops is always when I would wake up.” I twirled a chunk of my ponytail around my finger and chewed at the inside of my lip. “They changed around the time I got here.”

Despite the churning of my stomach, the pounding of my heart, and the sensation of feeling small that overcame me, I felt the desire to keep going. It was like the words were coming out of me whether I wanted them to or not. But there was a sense of safety, which comforted me as the words came out on their own accord. “Now, it’s still mostly just a blur of colors and physical sensations, and some sounds. But each night, the blurs get a little less blurry, the physical sensations feel more real, and the sounds get louder.” I folded my legs and brought my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. “And I’m scared for when it becomes crystal clear.”

“Hey,” he said, and I turned my face to look at him. His face had softened a little, his normal stoic expression appearing less rigid than usual, “nothin’ to be scared of. It’s not real.”

Oh, but it was. It was a very real thing that haunted my every move, that I couldn’t even escape in dreamland. Still, I appreciated his attempt to provide me some comfort.

“I know. Sure feels real though. It always takes me a minute after I wake up on the floor to realize I’m awake and was dreaming,” I explained, resting the side of my head on my forearms, keeping my gaze on Daryl. “It’s pretty jarring at times.”

We pulled up to the front gates, and he brought the car to a stop while we waited for the gate to open. He looked over at me, and his face has somehow softened even more than it already had. “I know it’s scary. Don’t worry. It can’t hurt ya.”

“Thanks Daryl,” I said in an attempt to wrap up the conversation before we got back inside the walls. I wished there was a way to explain the gravity & the reality of them without having to actually do so. Something that would help him understand without sharing too much information.

Rosita was practically at my door already by the time I stepped out of the car.

“Hi. Long time no see,” I said, grabbing my backpack and swinging it over my shoulders.

“Hi. I, umm, wanted to see if you guys needed any help,” she offered, looking past my shoulder into the back of the car, “wow, you guys did great. That’s awesome.”

“Couldn’ta done it without the good luck charm,” Daryl said as he popped the trunk open. I restrained myself from allowing the biggest grin to spread across my face. I couldn’t deny that I loved when he called me that. A couple of the guys at the front gate started grabbing food from the trunk to take to our storage area.

“Rosita, you wanna help me get these into the infirmary, then we can talk?” I asked, gesturing to the pile of fake hands and feet, “y’know, about the concern you mentioned to me this morning?” She caught on quickly and nodded.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

It took two trips for Rosita and I to get most of the pieces into the infirmary. For now, we placed them wherever there was room, as I would be spending the rest of my day finding them a permanent home in the infirmary. Back at the car, I took the remaining food out of my backpack and gave it to one of the guys. I grabbed the last several prosthetic pieces and shoved a couple into my bag, another couple under my arm.

“Daryl, do you want our help with the rest?” Rosita asked as she grabbed the last few prosthetics from me.

“Nah, go on, do what you gotta” he said, then turned to me, “I’ll be over when I’m done.” I gave him a smile and a nod, and I led Rosita over to the infirmary. After a minute, she looked back over her shoulder, determining that we were safely out of earshot, and she could ask questions.

“Be over for what?” 

“I mentioned that I was looking forward to eating once we got back, since I didn’t eat before we left this morning, so he offered to make us food. I’m guessing that means he’d bring it over to me once it was done,” I told her. Her face lit up, and I knew this was only the beginning of the incessant questions and teasing that were to come.

“He’s making you food?” she gushed. I gave her a look that screamed for her to lower her voice.

“Shut up,” I whispered, whacking her in the arm with the back of my hand.

“What was the comment about a good luck charm?” she asked. This time, I let a big stupid grin spread across my face.

“Oh, it was a joke I made on our first run. About me being a good luck charm and that’s why we got so lucky with what we found,” I explained, “it was one of my first attempts at being flirty.”

“And he remembered it!?” I whacked her with the back of my hand again.

“Rosita please, keep your voice down,” I begged as I opened the door to the infirmary for her, “it carries.”

She all but threw the last of the prosthetics in her arms onto a counter and sat herself on an exam table, kicking her feet back and forth in excitement. I sat myself in the chair I typically utilized and wheeled over towards the table.

“You look really happy,” Rosita said, giving me a gentle kick in the knee, “tell me everything.”

I recollected the events of our run, from the moment he gave me my coffee this morning to coming back in through the walls just now, including almost every detail. I left out specifics about the things Daryl shared with me in case they were things he didn’t want others to know. Plus, it wasn’t my place to share them. I also left out the details of the conversation on our ride back here.

"And then he stopped the car, Rosita. He stopped the car!" I practically shouted, catching myself when I realized how loud my volume was. I was referencing when I was first trying to get Daryl to let me ask him questions about himself.

I was giggling like a teenage girl talking about her crush in the bathroom with one of her friends. Here I was, at my grown age of 32, blushing and kicking my feet as I told the story. I mostly stared down at the floor to conceal just how red I was. I stopped trying to contain my grins and giddiness and just let them happen.

After I finished my story, she looked at me with the biggest, jaw-drop smile I’d ever seen.

"Oh my god, Daryl’s totally into you! He has to be, he never acts like that!” she squealed. She jumped off the table briefly to give me a giant congratulatory hug. “It sounds like he was even a little bit flirty as well. You're putting stars in his eyes, girly.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with me,” I said as I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, “Daryl’s not my usual type. I typically go for lanky musicians covered head-to-toe in tattoos who wear makeup. Guys who know how to finger a guitar...and that’s about it.”

“Vector!” Rosita laughed, her jaw on the floor at my rather lewd joke.

“I’m serious. I’ve never been this…enamored by a man before, especially one that makes me so nervous. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m usually very confident when it comes to approaching men I’m into. Maybe a little forward if I’m being honest. He’s easy to talk to, which makes me less nervous, but still.” I spun myself gently around in my chair, scratching my index finger on the side of my thumb.

“I mean, you said it yourself. You’re used to approaching a certain type of man, one that’s very different from Daryl. I guess keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Whatever it is seems to be working,” she said.

“I guess. But we’re still really getting to know each other. What if…what if he learns something he doesn’t like?”

She huffed at me. “Please. What is there not to like about you?”

I discreetly rubbed my rope scars under my sleeve and swallowed to keep the churning of my stomach at bay. “I don’t know, I just…I really like him. I don’t wanna fuck it up.” She reached out and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Just take it slow, and…let whatever happens happen. I have a good feeling about this.”

“Promise me you won’t talk to anyone else about it unless you’re indoors. Carol now knows because she overheard Maggie and Glenn talking about it last week,” I said, and she chuckled a little. “I still need to talk to them about that. Tell ‘em to square up.”

“I won’t, I promise. I can tell Maggie to come by, if you want. I’ll tell her to square up,” Rosita offered, eliciting a giggle from me.

“That’d be great. Thank you.” I grimaced as I looked around at the prosthetics that were now strung out everywhere. "Wanna keep me company while I deal with this? Probably gonna be in here a while.” She sighed as she hopped up off the exam table.

“I should get back to the garden. Plus, your man should be here anytime now. Maybe he can keep you company,” she teased, winking at me. I rolled my eyes so hard, I could see my brain.

“Shut up,” I laughed as Rosita made her way to the door, “oh and don’t tell Aaron about any of this. It’s a surprise for when he’s healed.”

I spent the next hour or so sat on the floor, sorting the limbs into different piles and measured them to figure out their different sizes as best I could. I used sticky notes to label them accordingly. Rosita’s words kept playing over and over in my head as I worked.

Daryl’s totally into you! He has to be, he never acts like that! It sounds like he was even a little bit flirty as well. You're putting stars in his eyes, girly. You’ll be fine. Just take it slow, and…let whatever happens happen. I have a good feeling about this.

I didn’t know what scared me more—the possibility that he could not be interested in me and I’m just reading into everything too much, or the possibility that he is interested in me. Because if he was, there would be things he would have to learn. Things I intended to take to my grave. Things that very well could scare him away.

A knock and then opening of the infirmary door sucked me out of my spiraling thoughts. I looked up over an exam table to see Daryl, carrying a plate with steam coming off of it and some silverware. I couldn’t see it, but whatever it was smelled incredible. Though at this point, I was so hungry that just about anything sounded incredible.

“Hey, be careful, there’s body parts everywhere,” I called out. I pushed one of the piles near me out of the way to clear a path for him.

“Sorry it took so long. Took a while to find a pasta that wasn’t spaghetti,” he said. He squatted down next to me and handed me the warm plate and silverware. “Didn’t wanna make ya sick.” The plate was piled with penne pasta, tomato sauce, and some kind of meat, which I guessed was likely venison. The fact that he went out of his way to find a different pasta shape for me was heartwarming. I could feel myself blushing, just a teeny tiny bit, hopefully so teeny tiny that it wasn’t noticeable to him.

“Do not apologize. The fact that you did this is more than enough. Thank you.” I reached up and set the plate on the exam table and leaned back against the wall. “Do you wanna keep me company while I sort through all this?” I asked, gesturing to the piles of fake limbs scattered across the floor.

“Got watch or I’d say yes” he said, “take a rain check?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” I gave him a warm smile as he rose to his feet and started to leave. I got up into my chair so I could take a break to eat. “Hey Daryl?” He turned back to me, his crossbow swaying against his back and tapping the door. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, not just…not just for this.”

“For what?”

“For letting me get to know you a bit…listening to me yap on…for caring,” I said, looking up to meet his eyes. Even though he was several feet away, and strands of his gorgeous chocolate hair hung in his face, I could feel that our eyes were locked, and I gave him another warm smile. “You’re a good man.”

“Ya ain’t so bad yourself, sunshine,” Daryl said. I felt my knees give out when he called me sunshine. If I wasn’t sitting, I would’ve crumbled to the floor. I could listen to him call me that all day.

“See you tonight,” I said, and with a nod, he was out the door. I heard him say something to someone, and then in came Maggie. As the door closed behind Daryl, she gave me a look that was begging for more information, probably both about why she was being summoned to see me and what Daryl was doing in here.

“What’s going on in here? Also Rosita said you wanted to “square up?”” she said. I laughed and pointed to the chair opposite me.

“Sit. You and I need to have a chat.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Currently working on a fluffy-ass, lil’ bit angsty Daryl Dixon x OC Halloween oneshot and it’s making me 🫠😭❤️❤️‍🩹😔✨🥰

Currently working on a fluffy-ass, lil’ bit angsty Daryl Dixon x OC Halloween oneshot and it’s making me 🫠😭❤️❤️‍🩹😔✨🥰

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of parent death (suicide, house fire), mention of scars (Daryl's), medical procedure (stitches), blood, allusion to child abuse (Daryl's), men being creepy, reference to sibling death, we got some big emotions in this one

Word count: 3.3k

Daryl and I began to get much closer after that second run. Eating dinner together became sort of a ritual of ours, other than the nights Daryl had duty in the watchtower. At first, it was him in the chair and me on the far end of the couch as I didn’t want to spook him. He never explicitly said it, but I got the vibe that he wasn’t big on physical touch. He always maintained at least a few feet distance between us, never getting too close. Eventually, I tested the waters and sat on the end of the couch closer to him, and that’d been our dinner arrangement ever since. Over the next few weeks, Rick had us go out on more runs. It was strange to me that I always heard about them from Daryl and never from Rick. I didn’t want to do anything that could get me in trouble, like leaving the sanctity of the walls when I wasn’t supposed to, but I was simply following instructions that I was told came from our fearless cowboy leader.

I joined Daryl once when he was working on his bike, and he showed me some stuff about it. Though he was so beautiful that day, I’ll admit, it was hard for me to keep focus. He was wearing one of his classic button-ups with the sleeves cut off, that angel-wing vest he loved so much, and a pair of ripped jeans that hugged his body just right. It was warm, so he was sweating buckets. I was practically drooling as I watched his arm muscles flex and relax as he worked. The way he glistened with sweat, the little hints of joy I heard in his voice as he talked to me about his motorcycle, his gorgeous accent…he was mesmerizing.

He still came and checked on me every night after I fell out of bed, another ritual of ours I suppose. It had evolved to a point where I would stay lying on the floor and give a thumbs up over the side of the bed when I heard the door open, then he’d leave. We’d sometimes spend mornings together, but usually one of us was always up and out before the other was awake, or if Daryl had overnight watch, he’d be just going to sleep when I got up. Typically, the one who got up first made coffee and left the rest out for the other. Sometimes, if he was coming back from an overnight watch, I’d wake up and go downstairs to find the pot just finishing up brewing.

It was obvious one of Daryl’s love languages was acts of service. He didn’t so much have a way with words, but damn he was good at showing how much he cared. Not just towards me, but the way he cared about the whole of Alexandria. He was always volunteering to go on watch, runs, hunts, you name it. He cared so much about the people here and would do whatever he needed to do to make sure we were all safe and protected. And that only made me fall for him even harder.

Though he typically wasn’t one for expressing his emotions with words, there was one morning when he left me a note. I came downstairs, and he was already out as he had gate duty all day. He had poured me coffee in a white mug with daisies on it that I once casually mentioned was my favorite mug of the ones in the cabinet, and there was a short but sweet note with it.

Have the best day

See you at dinner

I kept the note folded up in the back of my notebook where I kept some photos and a note from my brother.

Today, Daryl was teaching me how to hunt. Well, it was the start of that process. First, there was target practice. And I was getting to pick up and shoot that infamous crossbow.

Daryl had carved an X for a target on a tree, and my goal was to hit as dead center as I could. I knelt on one knee behind a fallen tree, which I was instructed to use to steady the crossbow and practice that way first. I could throw a knife over my shoulder and hit a walker square in the forehead. How hard could a crossbow be?

“Does this thing have recoil?” I asked as he handed it to me, “wow, it’s lighter than I thought it’d be.” I flipped the bow around and examined it, running my fingers over its smooth surface but was careful to make sure I didn’t touch anything that looked like a lever or a button. Didn’t wanna go causing any accidents right out the gate.

“Hardly any,” Daryl said, kneeling next to me. We were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. This was the closest we’d ever been, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach breaking free and trying to crawl their way up my throat.

“You ever kill anyone with this thing?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes, people are more dangerous than them walkers,” he explained, and I nodded. I was all too familiar with the dangers of other human beings during the end of the world.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. I rested the bow on the fallen tree and kept my gaze on the X carved into the tree in front of me. “I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t know if I could. It goes against the oath I took.”

"Hate to burst your bubble, but that don't matter no more."

“I guess not,” I shrugged, “but enough of that, let’s get to practicing.”

“‘lax your shoulders,” he said, gently placing his hands on both of my shoulders and lightly pressing to help me relax them. This was the first time he’d touched me on purpose. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster. “Geez, you’re tense woman.”

I wouldn’t be so tense if you didn’t make me so nervous, I thought. I propped the crossbow up onto my shoulder like I’d seen Daryl do a thousand times.

“It’s no good if ya don’t load it,” he said. He picked a bolt off of the front of it and reached around me to load it. His arm rested against my back as he strapped the bolt in. It was like he was testing the boundaries of physical closeness, though I didn’t know whether it was mine or his that he was testing. But I didn’t mind one bit. I steadied the bow on my shoulder and the fallen tree, aiming it at my target.

“Ya really gotta relax,” Daryl said, “can’t have this gettin’ in the way neither.” He took the end of my ponytail and draped my hair over my opposite shoulder, “damn, ya hair’s real soft.” I felt myself melting into a puddle, and my hands started to shake a bit as my heart rate picked up.

“Thank you. I grew it all by myself,” I laughed.

“How long'd it take ya to grow it out?”

“Oh God, I think the last time I got a drastic haircut was when I was like 13,”  I explained, “sometimes I think about chopping it all off because it gets in my way so much. And it feels like it weighs 20 pounds when it’s wet.”

“Ya should keep it long. Looks good.” I smiled and looked down at the ground, trying to hide that I was obviously turning red.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself again.

“Hey, you’re shakin’,” Daryl said, placing a hand on my shoulder in an effort to help me relax, “just take a breath. You’re good.” His voice was soft, soothing, and calming. Still laced with his gravely accent, but there was genuine caring and compassion behind his words.

“Nervous jitters I guess,” I said, taking another deep breath in through my nose. I lied straight through my teeth.

“Alright, look through the scope and aim it at the target,” he said. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

“Looks easy enough,” I said, perhaps a little too confidently as I did as he instructed.

“Once ya got it lined up, ya just pull the lever on the bottom,” Daryl explained, “helps if ya breathe out when ya do it.” I took a deep breath and fired, exhaling like he told me to. The bolt went flying right past the tree, not even grazing it. It landed far off in the grass somewhere I couldn’t see.

“I stand corrected on it looking easy,” I said, feeling horrifically embarrassed, “I missed the tree completely. How did I even do that?”

“It happens. Gotta get used to holdin’ it still. C’mon, I’ll show ya how to load it.” He gestured for me to hand his bow to him.

“At this point, I’ll just be happy to hit the tree at all,” I said, giggling a little to try to make myself feel better.

That’s how we spent the next couple of hours. Me attempting to hit the tree, somehow missing it completely or just grazing it, which was starting to feel like a win, and trying to find the bolts in the grass. He never seemed to get impatient or frustrated with me, even when I was starting to get frustrated with myself. He reassured me, helped me set up and reload, and tried to help me feel more confident.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally did it. I hit the very outskirts of the giant X target, but I hit it nonetheless. I about jumped into the air with how excited I was.

“Oh my God, I did it!” I cheered, nearly dropping the crossbow to the ground in surprise. A gigantic grin spread across my face as I looked at Daryl. “I did it!”

“Knew ya could do it,” he congratulated. He had reached out and was stroking the back of my arm with his fingers. His touch was so light, it felt like being tickled with a feather. I could feel goosebumps forming, but thankfully, my sleeve hid them. “Think that’s the first time I seen ya do that too.”

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Seen me do what?”

“Smile like that.” It occurred to me that he was referring to the fact that I was smiling with my teeth out. And he was right—this was the first time I’d smiled like that in months.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, I found myself working late in the infirmary. A couple of the kids had gotten into a fight, and while their injuries weren’t too bad, they still required attention. A couple of scraped knees and small cuts later, I was supposed to be going home for the evening, but as I was getting ready to leave, the infirmary door swung open one last time, and in came Daryl. He’d been covering gate duty for a couple of hours, and I figured he must’ve seen the infirmary light on and came to check on me.

“Hey, there’s my little Georgia peach,” I said, giving him a big smile. He looked at me with a solemn face, which concerned me a little. “Daryl…are you ok?” He didn’t say anything at first. He simply kept eye contact with me as he stepped closer.

“I, uh, need your help with somethin’,” he said. He took his bow off of his back and turned around. There was a sizable gash across his mid-back, his clothes stained with dried blood.

“Jesus, get your ass up here,” I ordered, gesturing to the exam table. I started grabbing things like gloves and antiseptic. “What the hell happened?”

“Couple of ‘em pricks was talkin’ ‘bout ya,” he said as he sat down on the table and scooted back to the edge. I froze and swallowed hard. I hadn’t really gotten to know any of the men who typically had gate duty, and the only times I saw them were when I was coming and going through the gate, and I was always with Daryl.

“You got this defending me? Jesus, I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” I continued grabbing everything I would need, like cotton pads, medical tape, tools for stitches, and antibiotics.

“Nah, jackasses had it comin’.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Roughed ‘em up a bit. Let ‘em know not to say nothin’ like that ‘gain,” Daryl explained.

“Do I wanna know what they were saying about me?”

“Probably not. Bein’ a buncha creeps.” The never-ending list of things they could’ve been saying swirled through my mind, and I felt sick. I suppressed the nausea that quickly made its home in my stomach.

“Great. Just when I was starting to feel safe here,” I sighed. I thought I’d finally found a place away from the prying eyes of creepy men, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder at me with kind eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let ‘em give ya any trouble.” I gave him a smile and a nod.

“Alright, I need you to take your shirt off. Then I’m gonna clean it and stitch it up. I’ll talk you through each step so you know what to expect since you can’t see it,” I explained. I slipped my gloves on after washing my hands thoroughly and scooted a stool over with my foot so I would sit higher up. Daryl fidgeted a little on the table, and he seemed nervous. I could tell he was in pain from his injury, but something else seemed to be bothering him.

“If you’re not comfortable taking your shirt off, that’s ok. I just need you to lift it enough so I can work,” I said, “don’t wanna go stitching your shirt to your back.” To my surprise, he lifted his shirt up and off over his head, letting it slide down his arms into his lap.

When he did, I understood why I’d never seen Daryl shirtless before.

There were scars all across his back. Not the kind of scars you’d get from being in a motorcycle or car accident, or burn scars, or from taking a really bad tumble as a kid. No, these scars were intentionally inflicted by another person. My heart shattered, but I kept my composure.

How could someone do something so awful to someone so good?

I made sure to utilize my calming bedside manner voice. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I have seen anything you can possibly imagine. Plus, I have scars of my own. I know better than to ask about anyone else's."

I grabbed a cloth soaked with some warm water so I could clean up some of the dried blood, and I gently started rubbing it on his back. “I’m gonna try to get as much of this dried blood off as I can.” He tensed a little bit under my touch, so I tried my best to be even lighter, but I could only press so lightly while still getting the blood off. I decided to clean just enough around the wound to make the process quicker, and he could take care of the rest when he showered.

“Alright, I have to clean it now so it won’t get infected. I won’t lie, this is going to sting a little. But I’m just taking a cotton pad with some antiseptic and patting around it,” I explained. I started patting his wound with the cotton pad, and he flinched just a tiny bit. I placed my other hand on his arm and stroked it gently with my thumb. “Hey, you’re ok. You’re doing great.” As I stroked his arm, I felt him start to relax.

My heart was breaking for him. The sensation of the antiseptic in his open wound must’ve felt similar to whatever created the scars on his back. I tried to think of something to talk about to distract him.

“I like your tattoo, Daryl,” I said, “does it mean anything?”

“Jus’ thought it looked cool,” he replied.

“I actually have a few tattoos of my own,” I told him, “I know, there’s something you didn’t know about me. I have a sternum piece with flowers on it, bumblebees on the back of each of my thighs, and a bouquet of daisies on the front of my right hip. I liked the idea of having tattoos that only certain people get to see. People that I get to choose." I hoped that, maybe one day, I’d get to show Daryl my tattoos. I set the cotton pad on the table next to him. “I’m done cleaning it now. Could you straighten up for me? I’m gonna stitch it up now. It’ll probably hurt a little, but it won’t burn like the antiseptic did.”

"They mean anythin'?" he asked as he sat up straight.

"I really like sternum pieces, so that's why I got that one. Daisies are my favorite flower, and the bumblebees are for my mom.” I got to work stitching him up as I talked. “Gardening was her favorite hobby, and we had a huge one in our backyard growing up. She taught my brothers and I about the different kinds of pollinators and how important they were. Bumblebees were her favorite. I got them a couple of years after she passed.”

“Lost my mom too,” Daryl said. It was the first time he’d mentioned his mom in any capacity. “What happened to her? If you’re ok talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“She umm…she killed herself a couple of months after Preston died. Hung herself in his closet. My dad was the one that found her.” I blinked back some tears. Stitching up someone’s wound was not the time to be crying. “Her mental health really declined after his passing. I mean, all of ours did, but hers was the worst. She couldn't stand losing one of her children, so she left the other three behind. At least that's what it felt like. The anger stage of my grief lasted a very, very long time.”

There was a heaviness that hung in the air as I finished stitching his wound. It felt suffocating, like it was a heavy weight pressing on my chest. I lowered the volume of my voice a little to keep myself from crying. “Alright, I’ve just gotta wrap it up and you’re done.”

“Mine was a house fire,” he started to explain, and as he talked, I continued wrapping his wound, using as gentle of a touch as I could and offering small comforting pats and strokes in between. I felt his muscles continue to relax into my hands as I worked. “I was a kid. Ran home after we saw fire trucks comin’ down the street. Finally caught up to the other kids and saw it was my house. Mom was inside. Some combo of her wine ’n smokes. Didn’t feel real for a long time.” Before I finished patching him up, I ran my hands over the back of his arms and offered small squeezes, like tiny hugs from my fingers. This was by far the most vulnerable he’d been around me, and I wanted to make sure he felt safe, seen, and comforted.

“I’m so sorry Daryl. You didn’t deserve for that to happen.”

"Didn’t deserve yours neither.” I ran my fingers over and flattened out the last piece of medical tape.

“There we go, you’re all patched up now,” I said, grabbing a small bottle of antibiotics and handing it to him. “you’ll have to change the dressing every day. I can help you with that. And you’ll have to take those for like a week. Make sure you stay on top of that.”

“Do I gotta? Didn’t think it was that bad,” he said, flipping the little orange bottle around in his hand.

I sat myself up on the exam table next to him, “Daryl, what kind of doctor would I be if I let you get an infection?”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider was found on Google via searching for stock images

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of parent death (suicide, house fire), mention of scars (Daryl's), medical procedure (stitches), blood, allusion to child abuse (Daryl's), men being creepy, reference to sibling death, we got some big emotions in this one

Word count: 3.3k

Daryl and I began to get much closer after that second run. Eating dinner together became sort of a ritual of ours, other than the nights Daryl had duty in the watchtower. At first, it was him in the chair and me on the far end of the couch as I didn’t want to spook him. He never explicitly said it, but I got the vibe that he wasn’t big on physical touch. He always maintained at least a few feet distance between us, never getting too close. Eventually, I tested the waters and sat on the end of the couch closer to him, and that’d been our dinner arrangement ever since. Over the next few weeks, Rick had us go out on more runs. It was strange to me that I always heard about them from Daryl and never from Rick. I didn’t want to do anything that could get me in trouble, like leaving the sanctity of the walls when I wasn’t supposed to, but I was simply following instructions that I was told came from our fearless cowboy leader.

I joined Daryl once when he was working on his bike, and he showed me some stuff about it. Though he was so beautiful that day, I’ll admit, it was hard for me to keep focus. He was wearing one of his classic button-ups with the sleeves cut off, that angel-wing vest he loved so much, and a pair of ripped jeans that hugged his body just right. It was warm, so he was sweating buckets. I was practically drooling as I watched his arm muscles flex and relax as he worked. The way he glistened with sweat, the little hints of joy I heard in his voice as he talked to me about his motorcycle, his gorgeous accent…he was mesmerizing.

He still came and checked on me every night after I fell out of bed, another ritual of ours I suppose. It had evolved to a point where I would stay lying on the floor and give a thumbs up over the side of the bed when I heard the door open, then he’d leave. We’d sometimes spend mornings together, but usually one of us was always up and out before the other was awake, or if Daryl had overnight watch, he’d be just going to sleep when I got up. Typically, the one who got up first made coffee and left the rest out for the other. Sometimes, if he was coming back from an overnight watch, I’d wake up and go downstairs to find the pot just finishing up brewing.

It was obvious one of Daryl’s love languages was acts of service. He didn’t so much have a way with words, but damn he was good at showing how much he cared. Not just towards me, but the way he cared about the whole of Alexandria. He was always volunteering to go on watch, runs, hunts, you name it. He cared so much about the people here and would do whatever he needed to do to make sure we were all safe and protected. And that only made me fall for him even harder.

Though he typically wasn’t one for expressing his emotions with words, there was one morning when he left me a note. I came downstairs, and he was already out as he had gate duty all day. He had poured me coffee in a white mug with daisies on it that I once casually mentioned was my favorite mug of the ones in the cabinet, and there was a short but sweet note with it.

Have the best day

See you at dinner

I kept the note folded up in the back of my notebook where I kept some photos and a note from my brother.

Today, Daryl was teaching me how to hunt. Well, it was the start of that process. First, there was target practice. And I was getting to pick up and shoot that infamous crossbow.

Daryl had carved an X for a target on a tree, and my goal was to hit as dead center as I could. I knelt on one knee behind a fallen tree, which I was instructed to use to steady the crossbow and practice that way first. I could throw a knife over my shoulder and hit a walker square in the forehead. How hard could a crossbow be?

“Does this thing have recoil?” I asked as he handed it to me, “wow, it’s lighter than I thought it’d be.” I flipped the bow around and examined it, running my fingers over its smooth surface but was careful to make sure I didn’t touch anything that looked like a lever or a button. Didn’t wanna go causing any accidents right out the gate.

“Hardly any,” Daryl said, kneeling next to me. We were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. This was the closest we’d ever been, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach breaking free and trying to crawl their way up my throat.

“You ever kill anyone with this thing?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes, people are more dangerous than them walkers,” he explained, and I nodded. I was all too familiar with the dangers of other human beings during the end of the world.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. I rested the bow on the fallen tree and kept my gaze on the X carved into the tree in front of me. “I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t know if I could. It goes against the oath I took.”

"Hate to burst your bubble, but that don't matter no more."

“I guess not,” I shrugged, “but enough of that, let’s get to practicing.”

“‘lax your shoulders,” he said, gently placing his hands on both of my shoulders and lightly pressing to help me relax them. This was the first time he’d touched me on purpose. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster. “Geez, you’re tense woman.”

I wouldn’t be so tense if you didn’t make me so nervous, I thought. I propped the crossbow up onto my shoulder like I’d seen Daryl do a thousand times.

“It’s no good if ya don’t load it,” he said. He picked a bolt off of the front of it and reached around me to load it. His arm rested against my back as he strapped the bolt in. It was like he was testing the boundaries of physical closeness, though I didn’t know whether it was mine or his that he was testing. But I didn’t mind one bit. I steadied the bow on my shoulder and the fallen tree, aiming it at my target.

“Ya really gotta relax,” Daryl said, “can’t have this gettin’ in the way neither.” He took the end of my ponytail and draped my hair over my opposite shoulder, “damn, ya hair’s real soft.” I felt myself melting into a puddle, and my hands started to shake a bit as my heart rate picked up.

“Thank you. I grew it all by myself,” I laughed.

“How long'd it take ya to grow it out?”

“Oh God, I think the last time I got a drastic haircut was when I was like 13,”  I explained, “sometimes I think about chopping it all off because it gets in my way so much. And it feels like it weighs 20 pounds when it’s wet.”

“Ya should keep it long. Looks good.” I smiled and looked down at the ground, trying to hide that I was obviously turning red.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself again.

“Hey, you’re shakin’,” Daryl said, placing a hand on my shoulder in an effort to help me relax, “just take a breath. You’re good.” His voice was soft, soothing, and calming. Still laced with his gravely accent, but there was genuine caring and compassion behind his words.

“Nervous jitters I guess,” I said, taking another deep breath in through my nose. I lied straight through my teeth.

“Alright, look through the scope and aim it at the target,” he said. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

“Looks easy enough,” I said, perhaps a little too confidently as I did as he instructed.

“Once ya got it lined up, ya just pull the lever on the bottom,” Daryl explained, “helps if ya breathe out when ya do it.” I took a deep breath and fired, exhaling like he told me to. The bolt went flying right past the tree, not even grazing it. It landed far off in the grass somewhere I couldn’t see.

“I stand corrected on it looking easy,” I said, feeling horrifically embarrassed, “I missed the tree completely. How did I even do that?”

“It happens. Gotta get used to holdin’ it still. C’mon, I’ll show ya how to load it.” He gestured for me to hand his bow to him.

“At this point, I’ll just be happy to hit the tree at all,” I said, giggling a little to try to make myself feel better.

That’s how we spent the next couple of hours. Me attempting to hit the tree, somehow missing it completely or just grazing it, which was starting to feel like a win, and trying to find the bolts in the grass. He never seemed to get impatient or frustrated with me, even when I was starting to get frustrated with myself. He reassured me, helped me set up and reload, and tried to help me feel more confident.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally did it. I hit the very outskirts of the giant X target, but I hit it nonetheless. I about jumped into the air with how excited I was.

“Oh my God, I did it!” I cheered, nearly dropping the crossbow to the ground in surprise. A gigantic grin spread across my face as I looked at Daryl. “I did it!”

“Knew ya could do it,” he congratulated. He had reached out and was stroking the back of my arm with his fingers. His touch was so light, it felt like being tickled with a feather. I could feel goosebumps forming, but thankfully, my sleeve hid them. “Think that’s the first time I seen ya do that too.”

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Seen me do what?”

“Smile like that.” It occurred to me that he was referring to the fact that I was smiling with my teeth out. And he was right—this was the first time I’d smiled like that in months.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, I found myself working late in the infirmary. A couple of the kids had gotten into a fight, and while their injuries weren’t too bad, they still required attention. A couple of scraped knees and small cuts later, I was supposed to be going home for the evening, but as I was getting ready to leave, the infirmary door swung open one last time, and in came Daryl. He’d been covering gate duty for a couple of hours, and I figured he must’ve seen the infirmary light on and came to check on me.

“Hey, there’s my little Georgia peach,” I said, giving him a big smile. He looked at me with a solemn face, which concerned me a little. “Daryl…are you ok?” He didn’t say anything at first. He simply kept eye contact with me as he stepped closer.

“I, uh, need your help with somethin’,” he said. He took his bow off of his back and turned around. There was a sizable gash across his mid-back, his clothes stained with dried blood.

“Jesus, get your ass up here,” I ordered, gesturing to the exam table. I started grabbing things like gloves and antiseptic. “What the hell happened?”

“Couple of ‘em pricks was talkin’ ‘bout ya,” he said as he sat down on the table and scooted back to the edge. I froze and swallowed hard. I hadn’t really gotten to know any of the men who typically had gate duty, and the only times I saw them were when I was coming and going through the gate, and I was always with Daryl.

“You got this defending me? Jesus, I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” I continued grabbing everything I would need, like cotton pads, medical tape, tools for stitches, and antibiotics.

“Nah, jackasses had it comin’.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Roughed ‘em up a bit. Let ‘em know not to say nothin’ like that ‘gain,” Daryl explained.

“Do I wanna know what they were saying about me?”

“Probably not. Bein’ a buncha creeps.” The never-ending list of things they could’ve been saying swirled through my mind, and I felt sick. I suppressed the nausea that quickly made its home in my stomach.

“Great. Just when I was starting to feel safe here,” I sighed. I thought I’d finally found a place away from the prying eyes of creepy men, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder at me with kind eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let ‘em give ya any trouble.” I gave him a smile and a nod.

“Alright, I need you to take your shirt off. Then I’m gonna clean it and stitch it up. I’ll talk you through each step so you know what to expect since you can’t see it,” I explained. I slipped my gloves on after washing my hands thoroughly and scooted a stool over with my foot so I would sit higher up. Daryl fidgeted a little on the table, and he seemed nervous. I could tell he was in pain from his injury, but something else seemed to be bothering him.

“If you’re not comfortable taking your shirt off, that’s ok. I just need you to lift it enough so I can work,” I said, “don’t wanna go stitching your shirt to your back.” To my surprise, he lifted his shirt up and off over his head, letting it slide down his arms into his lap.

When he did, I understood why I’d never seen Daryl shirtless before.

There were scars all across his back. Not the kind of scars you’d get from being in a motorcycle or car accident, or burn scars, or from taking a really bad tumble as a kid. No, these scars were intentionally inflicted by another person. My heart shattered, but I kept my composure.

How could someone do something so awful to someone so good?

I made sure to utilize my calming bedside manner voice. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I have seen anything you can possibly imagine. Plus, I have scars of my own. I know better than to ask about anyone else's."

I grabbed a cloth soaked with some warm water so I could clean up some of the dried blood, and I gently started rubbing it on his back. “I’m gonna try to get as much of this dried blood off as I can.” He tensed a little bit under my touch, so I tried my best to be even lighter, but I could only press so lightly while still getting the blood off. I decided to clean just enough around the wound to make the process quicker, and he could take care of the rest when he showered.

“Alright, I have to clean it now so it won’t get infected. I won’t lie, this is going to sting a little. But I’m just taking a cotton pad with some antiseptic and patting around it,” I explained. I started patting his wound with the cotton pad, and he flinched just a tiny bit. I placed my other hand on his arm and stroked it gently with my thumb. “Hey, you’re ok. You’re doing great.” As I stroked his arm, I felt him start to relax.

My heart was breaking for him. The sensation of the antiseptic in his open wound must’ve felt similar to whatever created the scars on his back. I tried to think of something to talk about to distract him.

“I like your tattoo, Daryl,” I said, “does it mean anything?”

“Jus’ thought it looked cool,” he replied.

“I actually have a few tattoos of my own,” I told him, “I know, there’s something you didn’t know about me. I have a sternum piece with flowers on it, bumblebees on the back of each of my thighs, and a bouquet of daisies on the front of my right hip. I liked the idea of having tattoos that only certain people get to see. People that I get to choose." I hoped that, maybe one day, I’d get to show Daryl my tattoos. I set the cotton pad on the table next to him. “I’m done cleaning it now. Could you straighten up for me? I’m gonna stitch it up now. It’ll probably hurt a little, but it won’t burn like the antiseptic did.”

"They mean anythin'?" he asked as he sat up straight.

"I really like sternum pieces, so that's why I got that one. Daisies are my favorite flower, and the bumblebees are for my mom.” I got to work stitching him up as I talked. “Gardening was her favorite hobby, and we had a huge one in our backyard growing up. She taught my brothers and I about the different kinds of pollinators and how important they were. Bumblebees were her favorite. I got them a couple of years after she passed.”

“Lost my mom too,” Daryl said. It was the first time he’d mentioned his mom in any capacity. “What happened to her? If you’re ok talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“She umm…she killed herself a couple of months after Preston died. Hung herself in his closet. My dad was the one that found her.” I blinked back some tears. Stitching up someone’s wound was not the time to be crying. “Her mental health really declined after his passing. I mean, all of ours did, but hers was the worst. She couldn't stand losing one of her children, so she left the other three behind. At least that's what it felt like. The anger stage of my grief lasted a very, very long time.”

There was a heaviness that hung in the air as I finished stitching his wound. It felt suffocating, like it was a heavy weight pressing on my chest. I lowered the volume of my voice a little to keep myself from crying. “Alright, I’ve just gotta wrap it up and you’re done.”

“Mine was a house fire,” he started to explain, and as he talked, I continued wrapping his wound, using as gentle of a touch as I could and offering small comforting pats and strokes in between. I felt his muscles continue to relax into my hands as I worked. “I was a kid. Ran home after we saw fire trucks comin’ down the street. Finally caught up to the other kids and saw it was my house. Mom was inside. Some combo of her wine ’n smokes. Didn’t feel real for a long time.” Before I finished patching him up, I ran my hands over the back of his arms and offered small squeezes, like tiny hugs from my fingers. This was by far the most vulnerable he’d been around me, and I wanted to make sure he felt safe, seen, and comforted.

“I’m so sorry Daryl. You didn’t deserve for that to happen.”

"Didn’t deserve yours neither.” I ran my fingers over and flattened out the last piece of medical tape.

“There we go, you’re all patched up now,” I said, grabbing a small bottle of antibiotics and handing it to him. “you’ll have to change the dressing every day. I can help you with that. And you’ll have to take those for like a week. Make sure you stay on top of that.”

“Do I gotta? Didn’t think it was that bad,” he said, flipping the little orange bottle around in his hand.

I sat myself up on the exam table next to him, “Daryl, what kind of doctor would I be if I let you get an infection?”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider was found on Google via searching for stock images

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Sixteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of sibling death, discussion of parent death, mention of depression, mention of medical procedures, men being creepy, description of nightmares (being tied up, being held at gunpoint, allusion to rape), PTSD, panic attacks

Word count: 2.8k

Though it was already getting late when he came in, Daryl and I sat on that infirmary table and talked for a long time. I talked more about my mom, and he started slowly opening up about the things he and Merle got into before the world fell. There were a lot of drugs and drinking from what I was able to gather, but he was a bit conservative with the details. I didn’t mind that at all. Just the fact that he was willing to even lightly approach the more vulnerable subjects meant a lot to me. It made me feel like he felt I was a safe person to talk to, to be open with, and it made me happy that I could do that for him.

“My mom, she always saw the good in everyone. Both of my parents really, but her in particular. She was so caring, giving, always wanting to do the absolute most she could for the people she cared about,” I explained.

“Guess that’s where ya get it from,” Daryl replied, eliciting a small, flattered smile from me.

“That’s why watching her spiral after Preston died was even harder to watch. For two months, she sank deeper and deeper into this bottomless pit of depression. My dad, Jay, Eli, and I did everything we could to try to help her. Mind you, Jay and Eli had been deployed in the middle of all of this, and I was still in med school, so we tried our hardest with everything else we had going on. And then she just…couldn’t take it anymore.”

I could feel myself getting emotional, and I tried my best to turn it off. I blinked back some tears, and tiny droplets flew off my lashes onto the lenses of my glasses. “She tried her best to be the best example she could for my brothers and I. She told me that when she was growing up, she’d always say that if she ever had kids, she would do everything she could to make sure we made the world a better place. I didn’t learn that until I was older and had already decided I wanted to be a doctor, but it helped reaffirm for me that going to med school was the right decision.”

“She’d be proud of ya,” he said, his tone a little softer now. I had to do everything in my power to stop myself from turning into a blubbering, sobbing mess right then and there. He reached out and stroked the back of my arm with his fingers, just like he had done earlier during target practice. “Speakin’ of med school, don’t think I ever asked ya what your favorite part ‘bout bein’ a doctor is.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite, but what I find most fulfilling is when people come in, alive but unconscious or barely conscious, and they don’t think they’re going to make it. They may have already started making peace with the fact that they were likely going to die. And then hours or days later, they awaken & I get to be there to greet them and tell them that they made it. They almost always start crying, and their family might come in, and pretty soon it’s just a room full of people sobbing. They thank me over and over, sometimes followed by a story about how now they’ll be around to see their child get married or their grandchild graduate.” I took my glasses off and set them beside me on the table, using the back of my hands to wipe the tears off my cheeks. “I do what I need to do quickly so that I can give them their time together and also try not to start crying myself. I also find doing skin grafts really fulfilling because it can help people who’ve had really bad injuries or burns feel semi-normal again. The world is cruel towards people who don’t look “perfect,” so if I can help someone feel a bit more confident in themselves after an accident, that makes me happy.”

Daryl leaned over and grabbed a tissue box off of the counter, handing it to me. “Could ya show me some stuff ‘bout skin grafts?”

I pulled a few of the tissues out and dabbed at my eyes with them. “Umm, sure. Yeah, I can teach you about them. Why?"

"I like learnin’ ‘bout the things ya interested in. I may not understand it, but if it's important to ya, it's important to me." That warming sensation returned to my chest, this time so intense that I thought it might burst through my ribcage. Thankfully I was sitting because I felt my knees weaken, and a big, stupid grin spread across my face as I stared down at my feet swinging back and forth. That was exactly what I had said to him when I asked him to teach me things about his bike.

“Yeah, I can teach you some stuff,” I said, “whenever you want works for me.”

“Later ‘cause ya lookin’ real tired,” Daryl said, hopping off of the exam table and gathering his bow off the floor.

“Hey Daryl?” I said, and he turned his body to face me. I slid myself off the exam table as well. “There’s been a lot of…heavy emotions in here tonight. I just wanna make sure you’re ok.”

“‘ll be alright,” he replied. I took my tissues off the table and tossed them into the nearby trash can. “What about you?”

“Me too. I’ll be ok,” I said as we walked towards the door together, “and thank you for being vulnerable with me. I appreciate it. I hope…I hope you don’t regret it.”

“Nah, don’t got regrets with tellin’ ya things,” Daryl said. He opened the door and held it for me. I flipped the light switch off, and I was grateful for the darkness of night that now concealed my blushing face. He let the door swing shut behind him.

As we reached the path, the guys that were on gate duty with Daryl were walking by, heading home after their shift change. One of them walked by without so much as a glance in our direction. The other two walked by slowly, the looks on their faces ones I knew all too well. Every woman under the sun knew that look—being ogled, them undressing you with their eyes, thinking about the things they wanted to do to you. It made me nauseous. I took a step back, and Daryl held an arm out in front of me as if to let them know that if they wanted to approach me, they’d have to go through him.

I wondered which one of them was responsible for Daryl’s injury. If I ever found out, there would be hell to pay.

We watched them in silence until they were down the path and approaching their homes. Only then did Daryl move his arm out from in front of me.

“I don’t like the way they were looking at me,” I said as we continued home.

“Me neither,” Daryl agreed, “don’t worry though. They know not to say nothin’ to ya. Let me know if they do. Rough ‘em more if I gotta.”

“Thanks Daryl,” I replied as we went inside.

I kicked my boots off and yawned, stretching my arms out over my head. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m sure it’s late.” I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but the exhaustion I was feeling from my busy day was overshadowing my grumbling stomach.

Daryl sauntered into the kitchen and pulled a pot out from one of the cabinets. “I’ll save some food for ya.”

“Thank you,” I replied. I turned and started to make my way towards the stairs to go to my room, but stopped and turned back around. “Goodnight my little Georgia peach.” I’d started calling him that a couple of weeks ago, only in private, and even though he almost always scoffed at me when I did, I knew he didn’t hate it. He might’ve even liked it a little.

“‘Night short stuff,” he said. He’d taken to calling me “short stuff” because of my reactions to being called “tiny.” I knew he was only teasing when he called me “short stuff” or “tiny,” but I would be lying if I said I didn’t absolutely love it when he called me by one of his nicknames for me.

What Daryl and I had had definitely evolved beyond just a friendship. It was more of a…flirtationship, if you will.

At this point, I’d been at Alexandria for a month and a half or so. And the night that I’d been dreading for weeks finally came—the night that the horrible nightmare I’d been having became crystal clear.

Every sound, every touch, every sight was as clear as could be. It was like I’d been sucked back in time and was right back in that moment again.

I felt the cold barn floor underneath me and his crushing weight on top of me. I felt my hands tied above my head and the rope digging into my skin as I writhed around. I could hear his heavy breathing and the gun scrape against my teeth as it was forced into my mouth. I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks as I realized what was happening. And I could see his face—his evil, smug fucking face no less than two inches from mine.

In my head, the scream I let out could’ve shattered glass.

I awoke on the floor, running my hands all over my body in a panicked state. It took several moments for me to realize I was awake, back on my bedroom floor in Alexandria, like I always was. I hadn’t felt fear like that since the incident itself. The adrenaline that was coursing through my veins was the only thing that kept me upright.

I curled up into a ball against the bed, sobbing hysterically into my knees. My tears felt scalding, burning my skin as they slid down off of my cheeks. I was so wrapped up in my fear that I didn’t think about how Daryl would be coming in at any moment, just like he always did. Nor did I hear the door open when he finally did.

I heard his familiar footsteps move from the door around the bed over to me. He knelt, then sat down next to me. I didn’t look up at him, I couldn’t. I felt so ashamed, both for how my nightmare made me feel and for Daryl having to see me like this. Sure, he’d seen me cry on a few occasions, but none of those times were like this. None were this intense, this visceral, this raw.

“Hey, are ya ok? Ya get hurt?” Daryl asked, his tone velvety soft and a level of concern in his voice I’d never heard before. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up into the tiniest ball possible and disappear. Even if I had anything to say, I couldn’t find my voice.

When I didn’t say a word or move an inch, he scooted himself a little closer to me until his knee was against my leg. He placed a hand on my back, rubbing it up and down between my waist and my shoulders.

“Vec, what happened?” he asked, more worry in his voice than before, “talk to me.”

I practically lunged at him as I fell forward and wrapped my arms around him. It was like I didn’t have control over my body. I needed something familiar, something safe. More so someone familiar, someone safe. And he was right there. My body was reaching for him whether I wanted it to or not.

“It was so real,” I choked out between sobs, “it was so clear.” His strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me even closer to him until my head was resting in the crook of his neck, my heaving chest pressed to his. And he held me there as I continued to sob.

He was warm, like a heater, and his embrace around me was strong, but there was so much care and tenderness behind it. Even though the intense fear was still plaguing my nervous system, I felt safe wrapped up in his arms. He rubbed one hand up and down my back again.

“You’re ok. You’re safe. It can’t hurt ya,” he reassured.

It was a long time before either of us said anything. After a time, he moved his hand that was rubbing up and down my back to the back of my head and stroked my hair. He held me while I cried, and at one point, he started gently rocking me back and forth. I only continued to feel more ashamed, my face getting hot from embarrassment. I felt like such a baby.

“It was like I was right back in that moment.”

I immediately regretted what I had said. If someone said that to me when referencing a nightmare they had, I would assume that this nightmare was them reliving a horrific experience. And knowing that Daryl listened to every single word that came out of my mouth, he now knew that this, in fact, was real. That I dreamt of a real-life horror story night after night.

“You’re not there. You’re here,” Daryl said as he continued to stroke my hair. He handled me like glass, like he thought I might break if he was even just a little too heavy-handed.

“I could see, hear, feel everything.” I sobbed harder. I felt disgusting, vile, like a thousand showers in bleach couldn’t even scrub away the feeling of disgust I experienced.

Daryl stopped rocking me and moved his hand back to my back. “I know that’s scary. But you’re here now, and I got ya.” He somehow pulled me even closer to him, which I didn’t think was possible.

“I just want the pain to stop.”

“I know.” He didn’t know. He had no idea what I was talking about. But I know he knew how it felt to carry the pain of a traumatic incident and wanting that pain to go away.

My sobbing didn’t let up for a long time. When it started to, it was very gradual. Daryl held onto me the whole time, giving me reminders now and then that I was ok, he was there, and I was safe. After a long, long time, my crying had almost stopped, and I picked my head up off of Daryl’s shoulder. The crook of his neck and the shoulder of his shirt were soaked.

“I’m sorry I got your shirt wet,” I said. It felt like a silly thing to say, but I felt terrible.

“Nah, ’s not important.” He pressed tenderly on my shoulders, ushering me to lift my head out in front of him. For the first time in what felt like the hours we’d been sitting here, I met his gaze. My eyes were puffy, I didn’t need to see them to know that. I’m sure they were red too. I hated that he had to see me like this. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like shit,” I said, “I’m too scared to go back to sleep.” When I would fall out of bed after my initial nightmare, the nightmare never continued once I fell back asleep. That wasn’t what I was worried about.

What I was worried about was seeing that stupid, smug face every time I closed my eyes.

“You can go back to bed,” I said, resting my head back in the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry I kept you up for so long.”

“’s no trouble. C’mon, I’ll stay with ya ’til ya fall asleep,” Daryl said. He got up and stood over me, reaching his arms out for me to grab his hands. He pulled me up, and I was barely on my feet for a second before I fell back into the bed. My whole body felt weak, like my muscles were made of jello.

“Are you sure? I’ve already kept you up for long enough.” Daryl came around to the other side of the bed and sat down, scooting back until he was resting against the headboard. I used what small amount of energy I had left to move until I was laid down, rolling onto my side to face him and pulling my blanket up to my chin.

“I’m sure.” He extended his hand out, resting it next to me, palm up. I reached out and placed my hand in his, and he gently stroked my fingers with his thumb. I’m sure the moment would’ve felt more magical if I didn’t feel like such garbage.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl. I feel like such a burden.”

“Ya ain’t a burden, sunshine. Ya never are.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Sixteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of sibling death, discussion of parent death, mention of depression, mention of medical procedures, men being creepy, description of nightmares (being tied up, being held at gunpoint, allusion to rape), PTSD, panic attacks

Word count: 2.8k

Though it was already getting late when he came in, Daryl and I sat on that infirmary table and talked for a long time. I talked more about my mom, and he started slowly opening up about the things he and Merle got into before the world fell. There were a lot of drugs and drinking from what I was able to gather, but he was a bit conservative with the details. I didn’t mind that at all. Just the fact that he was willing to even lightly approach the more vulnerable subjects meant a lot to me. It made me feel like he felt I was a safe person to talk to, to be open with, and it made me happy that I could do that for him.

“My mom, she always saw the good in everyone. Both of my parents really, but her in particular. She was so caring, giving, always wanting to do the absolute most she could for the people she cared about,” I explained.

“Guess that’s where ya get it from,” Daryl replied, eliciting a small, flattered smile from me.

“That’s why watching her spiral after Preston died was even harder to watch. For two months, she sank deeper and deeper into this bottomless pit of depression. My dad, Jay, Eli, and I did everything we could to try to help her. Mind you, Jay and Eli had been deployed in the middle of all of this, and I was still in med school, so we tried our hardest with everything else we had going on. And then she just…couldn’t take it anymore.”

I could feel myself getting emotional, and I tried my best to turn it off. I blinked back some tears, and tiny droplets flew off my lashes onto the lenses of my glasses. “She tried her best to be the best example she could for my brothers and I. She told me that when she was growing up, she’d always say that if she ever had kids, she would do everything she could to make sure we made the world a better place. I didn’t learn that until I was older and had already decided I wanted to be a doctor, but it helped reaffirm for me that going to med school was the right decision.”

“She’d be proud of ya,” he said, his tone a little softer now. I had to do everything in my power to stop myself from turning into a blubbering, sobbing mess right then and there. He reached out and stroked the back of my arm with his fingers, just like he had done earlier during target practice. “Speakin’ of med school, don’t think I ever asked ya what your favorite part ‘bout bein’ a doctor is.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite, but what I find most fulfilling is when people come in, alive but unconscious or barely conscious, and they don’t think they’re going to make it. They may have already started making peace with the fact that they were likely going to die. And then hours or days later, they awaken & I get to be there to greet them and tell them that they made it. They almost always start crying, and their family might come in, and pretty soon it’s just a room full of people sobbing. They thank me over and over, sometimes followed by a story about how now they’ll be around to see their child get married or their grandchild graduate.” I took my glasses off and set them beside me on the table, using the back of my hands to wipe the tears off my cheeks. “I do what I need to do quickly so that I can give them their time together and also try not to start crying myself. I also find doing skin grafts really fulfilling because it can help people who’ve had really bad injuries or burns feel semi-normal again. The world is cruel towards people who don’t look “perfect,” so if I can help someone feel a bit more confident in themselves after an accident, that makes me happy.”

Daryl leaned over and grabbed a tissue box off of the counter, handing it to me. “Could ya show me some stuff ‘bout skin grafts?”

I pulled a few of the tissues out and dabbed at my eyes with them. “Umm, sure. Yeah, I can teach you about them. Why?"

"I like learnin’ ‘bout the things ya interested in. I may not understand it, but if it's important to ya, it's important to me." That warming sensation returned to my chest, this time so intense that I thought it might burst through my ribcage. Thankfully I was sitting because I felt my knees weaken, and a big, stupid grin spread across my face as I stared down at my feet swinging back and forth. That was exactly what I had said to him when I asked him to teach me things about his bike.

“Yeah, I can teach you some stuff,” I said, “whenever you want works for me.”

“Later ‘cause ya lookin’ real tired,” Daryl said, hopping off of the exam table and gathering his bow off the floor.

“Hey Daryl?” I said, and he turned his body to face me. I slid myself off the exam table as well. “There’s been a lot of…heavy emotions in here tonight. I just wanna make sure you’re ok.”

“‘ll be alright,” he replied. I took my tissues off the table and tossed them into the nearby trash can. “What about you?”

“Me too. I’ll be ok,” I said as we walked towards the door together, “and thank you for being vulnerable with me. I appreciate it. I hope…I hope you don’t regret it.”

“Nah, don’t got regrets with tellin’ ya things,” Daryl said. He opened the door and held it for me. I flipped the light switch off, and I was grateful for the darkness of night that now concealed my blushing face. He let the door swing shut behind him.

As we reached the path, the guys that were on gate duty with Daryl were walking by, heading home after their shift change. One of them walked by without so much as a glance in our direction. The other two walked by slowly, the looks on their faces ones I knew all too well. Every woman under the sun knew that look—being ogled, them undressing you with their eyes, thinking about the things they wanted to do to you. It made me nauseous. I took a step back, and Daryl held an arm out in front of me as if to let them know that if they wanted to approach me, they’d have to go through him.

I wondered which one of them was responsible for Daryl’s injury. If I ever found out, there would be hell to pay.

We watched them in silence until they were down the path and approaching their homes. Only then did Daryl move his arm out from in front of me.

“I don’t like the way they were looking at me,” I said as we continued home.

“Me neither,” Daryl agreed, “don’t worry though. They know not to say nothin’ to ya. Let me know if they do. Rough ‘em more if I gotta.”

“Thanks Daryl,” I replied as we went inside.

I kicked my boots off and yawned, stretching my arms out over my head. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m sure it’s late.” I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but the exhaustion I was feeling from my busy day was overshadowing my grumbling stomach.

Daryl sauntered into the kitchen and pulled a pot out from one of the cabinets. “I’ll save some food for ya.”

“Thank you,” I replied. I turned and started to make my way towards the stairs to go to my room, but stopped and turned back around. “Goodnight my little Georgia peach.” I’d started calling him that a couple of weeks ago, only in private, and even though he almost always scoffed at me when I did, I knew he didn’t hate it. He might’ve even liked it a little.

“‘Night short stuff,” he said. He’d taken to calling me “short stuff” because of my reactions to being called “tiny.” I knew he was only teasing when he called me “short stuff” or “tiny,” but I would be lying if I said I didn’t absolutely love it when he called me by one of his nicknames for me.

What Daryl and I had had definitely evolved beyond just a friendship. It was more of a…flirtationship, if you will.

At this point, I’d been at Alexandria for a month and a half or so. And the night that I’d been dreading for weeks finally came—the night that the horrible nightmare I’d been having became crystal clear.

Every sound, every touch, every sight was as clear as could be. It was like I’d been sucked back in time and was right back in that moment again.

I felt the cold barn floor underneath me and his crushing weight on top of me. I felt my hands tied above my head and the rope digging into my skin as I writhed around. I could hear his heavy breathing and the gun scrape against my teeth as it was forced into my mouth. I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks as I realized what was happening. And I could see his face—his evil, smug fucking face no less than two inches from mine.

In my head, the scream I let out could’ve shattered glass.

I awoke on the floor, running my hands all over my body in a panicked state. It took several moments for me to realize I was awake, back on my bedroom floor in Alexandria, like I always was. I hadn’t felt fear like that since the incident itself. The adrenaline that was coursing through my veins was the only thing that kept me upright.

I curled up into a ball against the bed, sobbing hysterically into my knees. My tears felt scalding, burning my skin as they slid down off of my cheeks. I was so wrapped up in my fear that I didn’t think about how Daryl would be coming in at any moment, just like he always did. Nor did I hear the door open when he finally did.

I heard his familiar footsteps move from the door around the bed over to me. He knelt, then sat down next to me. I didn’t look up at him, I couldn’t. I felt so ashamed, both for how my nightmare made me feel and for Daryl having to see me like this. Sure, he’d seen me cry on a few occasions, but none of those times were like this. None were this intense, this visceral, this raw.

“Hey, are ya ok? Ya get hurt?” Daryl asked, his tone velvety soft and a level of concern in his voice I’d never heard before. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up into the tiniest ball possible and disappear. Even if I had anything to say, I couldn’t find my voice.

When I didn’t say a word or move an inch, he scooted himself a little closer to me until his knee was against my leg. He placed a hand on my back, rubbing it up and down between my waist and my shoulders.

“Vec, what happened?” he asked, more worry in his voice than before, “talk to me.”

I practically lunged at him as I fell forward and wrapped my arms around him. It was like I didn’t have control over my body. I needed something familiar, something safe. More so someone familiar, someone safe. And he was right there. My body was reaching for him whether I wanted it to or not.

“It was so real,” I choked out between sobs, “it was so clear.” His strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me even closer to him until my head was resting in the crook of his neck, my heaving chest pressed to his. And he held me there as I continued to sob.

He was warm, like a heater, and his embrace around me was strong, but there was so much care and tenderness behind it. Even though the intense fear was still plaguing my nervous system, I felt safe wrapped up in his arms. He rubbed one hand up and down my back again.

“You’re ok. You’re safe. It can’t hurt ya,” he reassured.

It was a long time before either of us said anything. After a time, he moved his hand that was rubbing up and down my back to the back of my head and stroked my hair. He held me while I cried, and at one point, he started gently rocking me back and forth. I only continued to feel more ashamed, my face getting hot from embarrassment. I felt like such a baby.

“It was like I was right back in that moment.”

I immediately regretted what I had said. If someone said that to me when referencing a nightmare they had, I would assume that this nightmare was them reliving a horrific experience. And knowing that Daryl listened to every single word that came out of my mouth, he now knew that this, in fact, was real. That I dreamt of a real-life horror story night after night.

“You’re not there. You’re here,” Daryl said as he continued to stroke my hair. He handled me like glass, like he thought I might break if he was even just a little too heavy-handed.

“I could see, hear, feel everything.” I sobbed harder. I felt disgusting, vile, like a thousand showers in bleach couldn’t even scrub away the feeling of disgust I experienced.

Daryl stopped rocking me and moved his hand back to my back. “I know that’s scary. But you’re here now, and I got ya.” He somehow pulled me even closer to him, which I didn’t think was possible.

“I just want the pain to stop.”

“I know.” He didn’t know. He had no idea what I was talking about. But I know he knew how it felt to carry the pain of a traumatic incident and wanting that pain to go away.

My sobbing didn’t let up for a long time. When it started to, it was very gradual. Daryl held onto me the whole time, giving me reminders now and then that I was ok, he was there, and I was safe. After a long, long time, my crying had almost stopped, and I picked my head up off of Daryl’s shoulder. The crook of his neck and the shoulder of his shirt were soaked.

“I’m sorry I got your shirt wet,” I said. It felt like a silly thing to say, but I felt terrible.

“Nah, ’s not important.” He pressed tenderly on my shoulders, ushering me to lift my head out in front of him. For the first time in what felt like the hours we’d been sitting here, I met his gaze. My eyes were puffy, I didn’t need to see them to know that. I’m sure they were red too. I hated that he had to see me like this. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like shit,” I said, “I’m too scared to go back to sleep.” When I would fall out of bed after my initial nightmare, the nightmare never continued once I fell back asleep. That wasn’t what I was worried about.

What I was worried about was seeing that stupid, smug face every time I closed my eyes.

“You can go back to bed,” I said, resting my head back in the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry I kept you up for so long.”

“’s no trouble. C’mon, I’ll stay with ya ’til ya fall asleep,” Daryl said. He got up and stood over me, reaching his arms out for me to grab his hands. He pulled me up, and I was barely on my feet for a second before I fell back into the bed. My whole body felt weak, like my muscles were made of jello.

“Are you sure? I’ve already kept you up for long enough.” Daryl came around to the other side of the bed and sat down, scooting back until he was resting against the headboard. I used what small amount of energy I had left to move until I was laid down, rolling onto my side to face him and pulling my blanket up to my chin.

“I’m sure.” He extended his hand out, resting it next to me, palm up. I reached out and placed my hand in his, and he gently stroked my fingers with his thumb. I’m sure the moment would’ve felt more magical if I didn’t feel like such garbage.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl. I feel like such a burden.”

“Ya ain’t a burden, sunshine. Ya never are.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Seventeen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of excessive drinking to numb painful emotions, PTSD flashbacks, panic attack, mention of scars

Word count: 2.8k

Sleep eventually came that night, and I felt hellish when I woke up in the morning. "Hellish" was putting it lightly. My head was pounding, my eyes burned, and my entire body was sore, aching like when you have the flu. My chest was heavy, and it felt like it was taking a lot of energy to simply breathe. I don't think I'd ever felt so drained before.

It took a few moments of being awake for me to remember what had happened during the night. I blinked rapidly and looked at the other side of the bed. I remembered Daryl had to be out early for a day of hunting, so I wasn't too hurt when I saw it was empty. Still, I wished he had stayed just long enough for me to wake up.

This day was unusual for me in that I didn't have anything planned, at least not until the evening. There was going to be a community dinner. Everyone was supposed to make something, and we would eat out in the grass by the garden and drink late into the night. I likely wouldn't see Daryl until then, unless he got back early from hunting. I already couldn't wait for him to get back so I could wrap my arms around him and thank him for everything.

My day was going to consist of taking care of myself as best I could after last night and making food for the dinner, maybe seeing if anyone wanted help with theirs. I started by pulling myself out of bed. At first, I just slid out onto the floor. But I got myself out of bed, and that was a start. I didn't quite have the energy to stand, so I crawled over to my dresser and pulled out my clothes. I had decided a few days ago that today was finally going to be the day that I wore that dress Daryl got me weeks ago, back when we hardly knew each other. Not only was I excited to wear it, but I was excited for him to see me in it.

I sat on the floor for a while, letting my body reserve as much energy as it could so I could get myself down to the kitchen. Having not eaten since lunch the day before certainly wasn't helping my situation. After a few minutes, I pulled myself up, steadying myself on the dresser. I looked in the mirror. My eyes were still a bit red, and my lids were swollen, but they weren't too bad. My face felt puffy, and my hair was a mess of bedhead. I would've taken a shower first if my hunger wasn't demanding I make my way to the kitchen.

Daryl had left a container of food for me in the fridge. On the lid was a sticky note with my name on it. Judging by what he wrote, he would've had to leave it this morning before he went out on his hunt.

Vec

Hope you're feeling better

See you tonight

I put the note on the counter so I would remember to put it in my notebook with the other one. Eating helped me to feel a little better, but I still mostly felt like a pile of garbage. The note also put a little smile on my face. After I ate, I lugged myself into the shower in the hopes that that would help me feel less like garbage.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

As I washed myself off in the shower, stills from my nightmare flashed through my mind. It was like my brain was flipping through photos of the incident to taunt me. It made me feel an otherworldly level of gross, disgusting, like the only thing that could cleanse me of the feeling would be to skin myself. I could hardly stand to touch my own skin, to look at my own body, and I ended up curling up into a ball on the floor of the tub and sobbing some more. I wasn't sure how much more of this my poor eyeballs could take.

I don't know how long I spent like that, curled up in a pathetic little ball in the tub, but it was long enough to ride out a panic attack that felt like it lasted for days.

Once the panic attack had mostly subsided, I did my best to finish washing myself off before standing back up. I continued to take deep breaths as I turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing my fresh towel and tossing it around me like a blanket. I couldn't even look at my hands for fear that seeing my scars would send me into another spiral.

One thing was for sure—I was going to be numbing these feelings with alcohol.

I had never blacked out before, as I was a lightweight and didn't even like getting to the point that I was dizzy. I didn't know what I was going to be like, or what to expect, but I didn't care. I couldn't handle these feelings anymore. They'd been creeping up on me more and more the last few weeks, and last night was the catalyst for my impending drunken state. I could only hope I wouldn't make a total fool of myself and ruin things with Daryl.

I sat on my bed, trying to focus on my breathing and calm my nervous system down. I had talked patients down from panic attacks before, but talking yourself down from one was different. After some time, I was breathing normally again, and my heart rate had returned to a steady beat. I dried myself off and got dressed, and the sight of me in the stunning dress Daryl picked for me made me smile.

I did a small twirl in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly. The hem sat right around my ankles, and the slit came up to my mid-thigh on my right leg. It was nice and flowy around my lower body and hugged my waist and chest just right. It was like it was crafted just for me. I couldn't wait for Daryl to see.

I didn't need to start preparing food until later, so I thought I would go see if anyone needed help with preparing theirs or needed help with anything else. I grabbed my bag, put my boots on, and headed outside. It was a gorgeous day, nice and sunny and perfect for the evening's activities. People were bustling around, busy completing their daily tasks so they could relax when dinnertime came around. It was wonderful to see people getting excited about something and coming together so that we all could have a normal, non-apocalyptic experience.

I started off at Glenn and Maggie's. I hadn't spent time with Maggie in a while, and truly, I was less concerned about seeing if she needed help and more so just wanted to hang out. Maggie had become like a sister to me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed spending time with Daryl. But I also was in desperate need of some girl time.

"Hey. I just wanted to see if y'all needed help with anything for tonight. And I missed you," I said.

"Yeah, long time no see," she said. She stepped out onto the porch and gave me a hug, acknowledging my dress as she pulled away. “Whoa, where'd you pull that out from?" She opened the door and ushered me inside.

"Oh, it was a gift," I explained. She had an inquisitive look on her face.

"From...?" Maggie asked. I looked down at the floor and smiled. Her quick response let me know that I didn't need to explain. She knew. "No, really? That's so sweet!"

"Yeah. He said he thought of me when he saw it and thought I would like it. It's my first time wearing it." I looked back up at Maggie, whose jaw was nearly on the floor. “He tried to tell me that he just got lucky and didn't remember that my favorite color is blue, but I'm pretty sure he remembered."

"Oh he never forgot," she gushed, starting to walk away towards another room, "hold on, I have just the thing to add to your look." She returned a minute later with a curling iron in her hand. "Look what I found the other day. Can I do your hair?" She sounded so excited at the idea, I had a hard time saying no.

"Sure," I said, following her off to the bathroom, "why not? I have a lot of hair though, I hope you got time."

"Glenn can make the food for tonight. We got all the time we need."

We spent hours in that tiny bathroom, chatting and laughing and giggling like old friends. It felt like getting ready with a girlfriend to go out to the club on a weekend. It was times like this that made things seem normal, even if it was just for a few hours. We only took a break at one point for lunch, and Maggie explained to Glenn that he would be cooking for tonight's event. He was less than pleased.

"Are you gonna dress cute tonight?" I asked Maggie as she was moving on to the last chunks of my hair.

"I may have found something nice to wear," she said, a little smirk on her face and laughter in her voice.

"Oooh, you'll have to show me when we're done. We gotta make sure Rosita and Michonne do too. Ah I'm so excited!" I gushed.

After she finished the last piece of my hair, I stood up and looked in the bathroom mirror. It was somewhere between soft waves and tight ringlet curls, and despite being curled, it still reached down past my chest. Having my hair done was just the confidence boost I needed.

"Maggie, you killed it," I said. I twirled around and gave her another hug.

"You look great. Daryl's gonna have a hard time taking his eyes off you," she said. I caught myself turning red in the mirror, and her chuckling at me indicated that she had caught it too.

"Well, he can look as much as he wants," I gushed.

"Will he get to do more than just look?"

"Maggie!" I gave her shoulder a gentle shove, and I could feel the red on my face becoming brighter. She only laughed more.

"C'mon, let me show you what I picked out," she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the bathroom to go upstairs.

Once I left Maggie's, I went over to see Rosita and then Michonne. I wasn't able to find Rosita, but I did tell Michonne about what Maggie and I planned, and it didn't take much convincing to get her to join us. She showed me a cute little cream-colored dress that she had but hadn't worn before, and I gushed over how pretty she would look in it. It felt good to be able to hype up my fellow women.

I took a little stroll around the community before going home to make food for the eventful evening to come. After I finished making the food, I hand-washed some pots and pans. I had squatted down on the floor to put something away in a lower cabinet when I heard the front door open. I figured it had to be Daryl. The butterflies in my stomach awakened. I was both excited and extremely nervous for him to see me all dolled up.

"Hey, there's my bonafide badass," I said as I popped my head up over the island in the kitchen. His chocolate hair hung in front of his face, obstructing his eyes from my view, but I could feel that they were on me. He had taken off his bow and his jacket, both of which had been tossed on the floor, and he had started walking in my direction. “How did the hunt go?"

"Real well. Probably the best in—wow." He cut off his sentence as I got up and walked around the other side of the island. My heart was pounding. "Ya wearin' it."

"Yeah. I, uh, finally found an occasion to wear it," I said, taking a few steps closer to him and giving him a couple of little twirls. “What do you think?"

He didn't say anything at first, just eyed me up and down, which I didn't mind. Like I told Maggie, he could look as much as he wanted. He stepped closer to me and wrapped his arms around me, giving me the tightest and most gentle hug I could imagine. I wrapped my arms around his neck in return. He was a little sweaty and dirty from being out in the sun all day, but I didn't care. My knees felt weak, and I practically melted into him as he pulled me closer.

"Ya look real nice." His sweet Southern accent right in my ear sent shivers down my spine. "Dress fits perfect."

"Thank you. The hair is courtesy of Maggie. It took hours."

"She did great," Daryl said. We spent another few moments like that before Daryl released me from the hug. But he still kept me close, running his hands up and down from my shoulders to my elbows. His work-worn hands caressing my bare skin felt immaculate. “How ya feelin' after last night?" I kept my gaze on his chest. I was finding it difficult to look him in the eye when I thought about what happened the night before. I was still feeling ashamed.

"Alright. I had some...moments throughout the day, but I'm ok." I could feel him looking down at me. He only had three, maybe four inches on me at most, but he still had to peer down to look at me, especially when we were this close. I twiddled my thumbs together anxiously. "I'm sorry about what happened. I feel bad for keeping you up, and I feel like such a baby for how I acted."

"Don't apologize. Nothin' ya did wrong. Just glad you're ok," Daryl said. His voice was always so silky soft when he talked to me, and it made me melt even more. "Wanted to stay with ya 'til ya got up, but I had to leave early. Sorry 'bout that." I leaned my head forward and rested my forehead on his chest. Being this close to him, wrapped up in his arms like this...it was my own personal heaven.

"That's ok, it's not your fault. Thank you for everything you did for me. I—" I cut myself off before using the word I considered. I lifted my head to look at him, our eyes locking immediately. Those stunning blue irises made me weak. "I appreciate you. A lot."

"Anytime sunshine," he reassured, and I gave him a big grin in return.

"I should get the food outside. Wanna come with me?"

"Ya go on. I'll be out soon," he said. I skipped over into the kitchen and grabbed the slow cooker, and Daryl went upstairs. I propped the appliance up on my leg and let myself outside.

Someone had taken one of the infirmary tables and set it up in the grass, and plenty of people had already brought their dishes out and were gathering together. There was also a separate table set up for alcohol. I went over and sat the slow cooker down on the infirmary table, and I could see Rosita bouncing over towards me.

"Dude, you look hot," she exclaimed, giving me a hug as she approached me, "your hair looks amazing. How long did that take?"

"Thank you. Maggie did it. It took literal hours," I said, "and so do you. You look so cute. I wish we had a way to take pictures."

"Thanks. She caught me earlier and told me you all planned to dress up, told me I should join in."

"Oh good. I tried to find you earlier to tell you, but I couldn't," I explained. I tapped my foot on the ground and crossed my arms over my chest. "Rosita, I need you to do me a huge favor. I'm looking to get drunk tonight. Like really drunk. If you think I might start saying something about Daryl, something that he or anyone else shouldn't hear, I need you to punch me in the stomach as hard as you can." Her expression changed to a confused one. "I mean that. Don't hold back. Knock some sense into me."

"Vector, I'm not gonna punch you. But I will stop you from saying something you'd regret. How much do you plan on drinking?"

"You don't wanna know."

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images

A little self-appreciation post (and for other writers like me).

I love being a Daryl x OC writer. I know Daryl x Reader fics are more popular and generally do better, but I adore my OC with my whole heart and soul. I don’t care that she only exists in my head. It makes me endlessly happy to daydream about her in canon scenes/situations, thinking about how she’d interact with the other characters and what their relationships would look like. Who she would and wouldn’t like/get along with. To form and tell her story and develop her relationship with Daryl and her friendships with the likes of Rosita, Michonne, Maggie, and Aaron (and think about how much she hates Negan lmaoooo). She's everything to me & I hope I continue to get inspo to write with her for a very, very long time.

A little self-appreciation post (and for other writers like me).

I love being a Daryl x OC writer. I know Daryl x Reader fics are more popular and generally do better, but I adore my OC with my whole heart and soul. I don’t care that she only exists in my head. It makes me endlessly happy to daydream about her in canon scenes/situations, thinking about how she’d interact with the other characters and what their relationships would look like. Who she would and wouldn’t like/get along with. To form and tell her story and develop her relationship with Daryl and her friendships with the likes of Rosita, Michonne, Maggie, and Aaron (and think about how much she hates Negan lmaoooo). She's everything to me & I hope I continue to get inspo to write with her for a very, very long time.

Title:A Fight For Survival

--

In the desolate wasteland, the abandoned warehouse stood as a grim reminder of the world’s collapse. Its skeletal remains were dimly lit by the weak light seeping through broken windows. The oppressive silence was occasionally broken by distant groans and the shuffle of the undead, signaling the encroaching danger.

Daryl Dixon was slumped against a rusted metal pillar, his face a mask of pain. A severe wound along his side had him barely able to move, his bow resting uselessly on the floor beside him. His breath came in labored gasps as he tried to stay alert despite his injuries. The warehouse had become a trap, overrun by walkers, their guttural growls growing louder with each passing moment.

You, a skilled survivor and his steadfast companion, had been through countless perils together. This time, however, the stakes were higher. Daryl’s injury left him vulnerable, and the threat was imminent. You were determined to protect him. With a deep breath, you readied yourself, gripping a makeshift weapon—a metal shard attached to a sturdy stick.

The first walkers appeared, their groans filling the space with a chilling certainty. Without hesitation, you sprang into action. The clash was immediate and fierce. Each movement was a blend of desperation and precision, your weapon cutting through the encroaching threat. The walkers’ unnatural, jerky motions made them unpredictable, and every successful strike was met with the unsettling sounds of crumbling flesh and bone.

Daryl’s eyes, usually so steely, now held a mix of fear and frustration. He tried to rise, but pain kept him grounded. “Leave,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Save yourself.” But you weren’t about to abandon him. You pushed through the throng of walkers, defending him with every ounce of strength you had.

Amid the battle, you carved out a temporary safe zone. The weight of your task was immense, each decision a matter of life or death. The relentless walkers seemed to multiply, their numbers overwhelming. Your focus was laser-sharp, every swing of your weapon purposeful and driven by the need to keep Daryl safe.

Slowly, the tide of battle began to shift. The walkers' numbers dwindled, their advance slowing as their bodies accumulated on the floor. You could feel your strength waning, but the sight of fewer walkers gave you renewed energy. With the immediate threat reduced, you hurried back to Daryl’s side.

You knelt beside him, breathless and worn. “We need to get you patched up,” you said, your voice shaky but determined. Daryl looked at you with a mix of gratitude and relief. The battle had forged an unspoken bond between you, a testament to the trust and reliance that had deepened over time.

Carefully, you assisted Daryl to his feet, guiding him through the wreckage of the warehouse. Exhaustion was evident in every step, but the silent understanding between you made the journey bearable. As you reached a safer corner, the immediate danger had passed, leaving a heavy but welcome silence.

In that moment of quiet, the severity of your situation and the strength of your connection became clear. The world outside remained perilous, but together, you had faced another deadly challenge and emerged stronger for it.

Request if you want something different 😊

that sullen girl ♱ rick grimes

Rick knows you’re younger. You’ve got at least 13 years on him. And maybe in a life before that double digit number would’ve stopped him and he would’ve dragged his mind elsewhere. Stuck to what was “right”.

But he’s lost too damn much in the last few years to overthink this. He cares about you. It’s as simple as that. He wants you to be okay. Always.

And Alexandria is new territory. It’s terrifying how perfect it is here. An untouched world.

Rick knows a majority of his group is settling in, grateful to have a safe roof and walls around them. He’s glad his kids are safe.

Rick also knows you’re one of the ones still skeptical of where you guys are trying to take home in. Like Daryl.

Though, you’ve taken a shower.

Everyone in the group seems to have connections to an olden life, you don’t fall under that. Your younger kid sister closed her eyes for the final time a few months ago, Rick guesses. He knows it feels longer.

You’ve gotten quiet since then. He doesn’t blame you, the same damn thing happened to him after Lori—his reaction was a bit worse though.

He just doesn’t want you to lose yourself. You’ve got a good self. You keep him well.

Though, he can’t find you. It’s making him a little nervous, though, he tries not to show it.

He goes walking for awhile before he does find you, it’s a mistake when he does. Your hair a flash in his peripheral. He paused his walk and see’s you fully.

You’re with the graves.

You’re bent at the knees, all your weight resting on your balancing feet. You’re before your sister’s grave. A few flowers under the wooden pallet with her name craved into it.

Rick knows there’s not anything under that grass, six feet under. He knows it bothers you, even if you don’t say anything. He knows them having to bury your sister in the middle of nowhere under a large tree months ago bothers you too, even if you don’t say it.

He’s gotten good at reading you.

He walks over slowly, hands shoving in the pockets on his jeans. You hear him before you see him. “Hi, Rick.” You say gently, you seem to know him as well as he does with you. You know his steps, he hasn’t gotten there with you—yet.

He smiles small, it’s almost like a frown. “Hi, sweetheart.” His voice is deep and soft, softer than it normally is. He only talks to you like that, and Judith.

He sees you shift a little, like you’re getting up. He pushes a hand out for you and you take it without a second wasted. “You alright?” He asks gently. He can see the color draining from your eyes with each day passing. You get more tired. More like sludge under his palms. You aren’t sure how to move on. He wishes he could take your pain, though, he knows you’d never let him have it. He’s had more than you, you know he has, even if he wouldn’t agree. We’ve all lost something, he’d say. He’s right, but still. No one’s lost like Rick.. Nor what he’s done to stop from losing more.

You nod, your eyes on your sister’s name and your hand still in Rick’s. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just wanted to say hi to her, I guess..” Your voice fades off and your shoulders sink. He can see you roll your eyes at yourself. He hates when you’re cruel to yourself. You need to give you more credit.

Rick frowns gently. He squeezes your hand before letting it go, and his arm slips over your shoulders instead. His fingers mess gently with the ends of your hair, it’s gotten longer since he’s met you. It’s been years.

You sigh and lean into him, “sorry I disappeared. Should’ve told you I was heading out.” You know him too damn well. His worries. His fears.

Yeah, he feels good in Alexandria, but old habits never die.

He hums, pulling you even closer, if possible. His eyes are on your sister’s name. “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

You hum gently and finally look away from your sister’s empty grave. Your arms weave around Rick’s waist and you push your face softly into his side. His chin leans down on the crown of your head. He feels you hold onto him tighter.

“Things are okay, right?” You whisper into his clothed skin.

They are, for now at least.

He nods against your head, his other arm wrapping around you. “Yeah,” he says soft and quiet. “Everything’s alright, baby.”

He kisses your head. You squeeze him even tighter, makes his lungs feel like they’re going to pop with admiration.

You’re a strong sullen girl, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

twd fic writers on tumblr, i love y'all so much <3 especially the ones that i follow

Have you ever read a really good fic then looked up the author's other works and lo and behold a treasure trove of fics that are exactly your kind of shit? Because god that is what euphoria feels like. I love you random fic writers i unexpectedly find

already gone

rick grimes x reader / daryl dixon & reader (prison!era)

summary: you confess your feelings to rick after spending some time together, and he decides to leave for a while. when he returns, he’s immediately on edge when he sees you with daryl.

warnings: reader is in her twenties, unrequited love, jealousy, angst without comfort, past, fear, heavy angst, insecurities, cute!daryl, rude!rick, rage, angry kiss, mention of shane, season 4.

words count: 2778.

Your clock's hands appeared to be stuck between the end of the world and the start of a life you could never have imagined. You were never warned about this kind of eternity in the literature you studied as a child; they only discussed how short life was. The books' main characters battled life and death, but in the end, they were granted what they already had: the assurance that they would live on.

Love always had to be lived as if it were the thing that would save you from everything, and although for a time you wanted to believe it, love was no longer enough. Writers were filled with those feelings thanks to the peace they found when they picked up a pen and wrote on paper. But now, everything was different.

You always thought the wanderers were called that because all they did was walk. You felt a kinship with them because since the world ended, you had been wandering, searching for a place where you could feel safe. A task that had seemed complicated even in the past.

But now, you were supposed to be happy. You were with people who cared about you and would do anything for you. Your heart should have felt comforted, yet you struggled to find that comfort even within your own chest. Everything was happening so quickly that you didn’t have time to sit down and listen to yourself. All you could do was run until your feet hurt. Carol had told you a thousand times that you needed to stop and look at the sky, to realize its vastness and your place within it. But none of that mattered since he left.

It had been a long time since you believed that love would save you, yet you weren’t seeking salvation but rather a truce. And none of that was possible since he left. You waited for him every day by the window, talking to others to keep him alive in some way, even arguing with Daryl about going to look for him. He promised he would return, and even left to search for him. But you couldn’t bear to see him go too. Dixon had been your only constant since he left.

He left because you needed supplies to keep the group alive. But the wait was becoming eternal, and Rick wasn’t coming back. The hero who always returned had become a missing person. You wanted to take a horse and go find him, wanted to travel around the world just to hold him again.

"What’s on yer mind?” Daryl asked with a cigarette between his lips. You were sitting, hugging your knees, staring into the distance. You chuckled softly and looked at him.

His hair was a little longer than when Rick had left, and he had a few days’ worth of beard that suited him perfectly, along with a leather jacket that had belonged to his older brother. According to Dixon, they shared everything because they had so little money. You stopped to think about his story, about all the secrets you didn’t know, and maybe that falling in love with him would have been a better choice.

Daryl locked his grayish-blue eyes on yours and read you like an open book. Just like that. You felt like the simplest book in the world and sighed.

"Tomorrow, I’m gonna go look for him again.” he assured, taking such a deep drag on his cigarette that you could almost taste the smoke. You couldn’t help but stare into the void and focus on the farm that Rick had destroyed before leaving.

“Don’t…” you whispered, but he ignored you. It didn’t matter how many times you begged him not to go; this man was driven by loyalty, and he didn’t care if starvation struck him if it meant he could bring Rick back. It wasn’t just an act he did for you, but out of love for Rick.

"Ya never told me what happened that day,” he said, his voice affected by the cigarette, his accent even thicker. He was referring to the day Rick left. He had gone out for supplies, yes. But you were supposed to go with him, and yet he left alone because he had argued with you.

“Nothing important.”

He looked at you and said your name, drawing your attention. Everything was important to him.

“The night before, I told him I loved him,” you admitted, feeling tears well up in your eyes, though they didn’t fall down your cheeks, but burned just the same. “The night before, I told him I loved him, and he didn’t respond. He left as quickly as he could.”

Daryl listened carefully, and you saw his throat tighten as he swallowed. He took a drag on his cigarette and, after a few moments of silence, took another. You were standing watch outside the prison, so no one could hear or see you. The man gave you a look that seemed to understand you in a way you didn’t understand, and the weight of his feelings became too much for your shoulders.

“He got scared off.” Daryl whispered, and your lips went dry. “He didn’t reckon on fallin' in love again after what happened with Lori, and when you told him you loved him, he didn’t know how to handle it.”

That made so much sense that you felt your sweat turn cold, and your body was suddenly overwhelmed by a flood of regret. You felt insensitive for confessing your love when so little time had passed since what happened with his wife. But you couldn’t keep your lips sealed any longer; every time you kissed him, you felt a million butterflies inside you, they were desperate to escape. You were getting along better with Carl and Judith, everything with his children was perfect. You’d never had the chance to have a real family, you had always been so alone that perhaps you didn’t realize that this family was never truly yours. It belonged to someone else.

“Did I screw up?” you asked, though it felt more like a harsh confirmation. Dixon shook his head and crushed the remaining cigarette into the ground. He stood up and took his crossbow.

“Ya were real brave,” he replied, giving you a look that pierced your heart. "The world’s too messed up not to say what we’re feelin’. Some folks ain’t lucky enough to get the chance to say all their feelings.”

To say those words, he looked away. He always gave the impression of being permanently secure and unaffected by anything, but the truth was, he clung to his crossbow as if it could save him from his own emotions.

“Do you not express all your feelings?” Your voice trembled, and he noticed. You saw that his body always yielded to your closeness, and though you noticed, you inevitably thought of Rick. Of the way he looked at you with his clear eyes and how his body responded when only a few inches separated you.

“Why’d I do that?”

You stood up, and you shared the same air with him for a few seconds. It was then that you noticed some details of his face, ones that seemed to only reveal themselves under the moonlight. You wanted to have an answer for his question, the one he deserved. The urge to cry welled up under your tongue, and you took a deep breath. Daryl let out a soft laugh and gently ruffled your hair.

“Rick’ll come back,” he whispered, gazing at the metal door. “And he’ll tell ya he loves ya too.”

You hugged yourself and looked away.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, letting out a laugh that came straight from your aching heart.

“Cause you ain’t hard to love” he answered, and began to walk across the grass of that lonely place. You took in all the air you could as you watched him go, and before you realized it, your face was wet. You were crying uncontrollably.

A few hours later, you were walking near the fences, making sure they wouldn’t give way anytime soon. Daryl was behind you, dispatching the walkers trying to get through to the other side. You stopped and watched the way he drove his arrows into the dead brains of those creatures.

Unlike others, including yourself, he always did it quickly and without unnecessary violence. You even saw a kind of beauty in his actions and swallowed hard. The earlier conversation was still fresh, and you weren’t fully aware of your thoughts.

Before you could continue walking, one of those monsters almost ripped off your face. It was only avoided because someone swiftly decapitated it. You fell back, and Daryl caught you in his arms. The gesture made you feel safe, but that comfort shattered when you saw who had saved you.

Rick was staring intensely into your eyes. It seemed like his mind was waging a terrible war, with his body as the battleground. He hadn’t eaten in a long time, and his clothes hung loosely on him. You ran to the fence, your fingers gripping the small holes. But it didn’t matter because he was back. You wanted to hug him, touch him. You wanted to feel that it was real and not just an illusion your cruel mind had conjured.

“You’re back,” you said, so happy that you didn’t even notice Rick’s tense posture. He shot a glance at Daryl, who lowered his gaze and then walked away. “I thought you…”

“Thought I wouldn’t come back?” The sarcasm in his words set off all your alarms. You noticed Daryl unlocking the padlock, and when Rick passed through, he didn’t even look at him.

You moved towards Rick, but before you could touch him, he dodged you with a speed that felt hurtful.

“When did you start smoking?” he asked, hinting at how much you must have smelled of cigarettes from spending shifts with Daryl.

“Sometimes Daryl and I share a cigarette…” The answer made his jaw tighten, but he relaxed with a laugh.

“Daryl and you, huh?”

You had always thought of Rick as a mature person who wasn’t jealous at all. He had always treated you with kindness and respect, protecting you as if you were his most precious possession. If there was any danger in the world, you were sure Rick would do anything to make it disappear.

Moreover, he always acted according to such valuable principles that it made you wonder how you couldn’t be just like him. He was everything you had imagined, the person you dreamed of while other girls wanted the bad boy their parents would hate. You, on the other hand, were sure that your parents, if they were alive, would have loved Rick.

But now he was acting like a fool.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked once you were away from the others and had entered a room to unload the supplies Rick had brought.

“Nothing’s wrong with me. What about you? Anything you want to tell me?” His voice was so neutral it gave you chills. Chills so physical that you checked if any window was open, but everything was closed.

“That I missed you so much I thought you were dead.” You moved closer to Rick as you said this and placed your hand on his blood-stained shirt. You caressed him, and he responded almost immediately, his body recalling all those nights with you, locked in your cell until the sun set again. “I promise you…”

“I don’t see you as heartbroken.” His words struck a blow to your heart.

“Why are you acting like this?” Your voice betrayed your urge to cry. Rick looked at you and let out a laugh from his lips.

“Because I’ve been through this before.” You blinked several times. What was he referring to?

“I’ve been through disappearing and everyone forgetting about you.” He turned away and continued unpacking the cans of food he had brought. You grabbed his arm before he could put another can down and forced him to look at you.

“I couldn’t forget you even if I wanted to, Grimes.” You said with a certainty that came straight from your heart. The man lifted his chin and looked at you in a way that only confirmed he was shielding himself with his words. “Not a minute has passed where I didn’t think about you.”

Rick opened his lips and looked at yours, his tongue playing in his mouth, impatient to meet yours. However, he looked away and remained angry. You didn’t know what you had done wrong.

“I saw you looking at Daryl.” At that moment, you remembered your conversation with Dixon and how you had felt watching him. Your body froze, and Rick, noticing this, laughed in a way that distressed you. You closed your eyes to hide more and felt him start to leave.

“I’m not your wife,” you said with a harshness that made Rick stop in his tracks. “I’m not like her.”

You filled Rick with such intense anger that he nearly lost control, and he moved toward you abruptly.

“I told you I loved you,” you said, not stepping back despite him being so close. Your heart was still the same. You truly loved him even if everything had gone to hell. You saw your eyes, dull but always alive when you were with him, and you stroked his cheek. “I don’t say those words lightly, you know?”

Rick looked you up and down, letting your hand caress his face.

“Daryl is nothing like Shane.” Hearing that name made him tense up. “Daryl would turn the world upside down to find you and would give his heart to save yours. Don’t tarnish our names like that.”

Rick began to close the distance between you until you were backed up against a table. You stared at him, your fast breaths matching his. He brought his mouth closer to yours and started kissing you with a fervor that made you sit on the table to keep your balance. He kissed you as if the world was ending, and you only pulled away to catch your breath. You had never felt like this from a kiss before—so loved, so desperate for more. It was what you had dreamed of while he was gone.

“I know you’re not like Lori and Daryl isn’t like Shane…” he whispered as his large, rough hands touched you as if he could caress you beneath your clothes. “But are you sure he doesn’t feel anything for you?”

Before you could answer or bring your mouth back to his, he pulled away and looked at you with eyes that could kill if looks could kill. Your heart felt empty all of a sudden, and everything began to hurt. That kiss meant nothing because he didn’t trust you. Rick left the room and started walking outside. You followed him.

“You didn’t tell me you loved me,” you shouted, making him stop and look back over his shoulder. “I gave you my heart, and you abandoned it. Now that you’re back, you come to say that just to run away from me again.”

Rick touched his beard and looked at you with his blue eyes.

“I’m afraid to love you because the last time I loved someone, I lost everything,” he whispered, his voice reaching your heart. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

“It won’t happen, Rick. I promise you…” You moved closer and put your hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked at you. He was still grappling with his anger, and he had so many reasons to be angry that you couldn’t blame him. He was as scared as you were.

“Daryl doesn’t feel anything for me, and he would never hurt you,” you assured him, and his clear eyes reflected yours. “Please don’t leave again.”

“I’m already gone,” he whispered and withdrew from your touch.

You watched him walk toward the pavilion and, before following him, saw Daryl watching you from a distance. You could see something broken in him, something you’d love to fix in another life, but not in this one. You took a deep breath until you felt your whole body burning. Rick was walking away, and Daryl nodded, signaling you to go after him, that everything would be okay between you two.

Sometimes letting go is the most beautiful act of love.

When you arrived at the pavilion, you found Rick, and he hugged you, whispering a sincere apology.

“You’re not gone,” you whispered. “We can still find each other.”

so. damn. cute. I LOVED EVERY PART OF THIS STORY OMG 😭😭😭

Heaven's Gate

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader

If there were any more left of me - I'd give it to you.

Summary:

Hope. Not the fragile, delicate thing that everyone mistakes it to be.

Hope is stubborn, and grows inside of you long before you ever realize its purpose there.

Hope can't be crushed by a thousand pound tank or torn apart as easily as concrete walls can. Hope is balanced on the backs of songbirds, it whistles quietly in the wind, and it brings you right where you need to be (even if you don't know it).

Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff. Set during Seasons 1-5.

Word Count: 24,200

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: the reader character in this fic is completely gender neutral - there is no mentions of the reader's genitals, their clothing style, or their general appearance, and I did not use any gendered terms to refer to the reader whatsoever; a few times the term 'they' is used in conversation, but I tried to be clever and make it so that it could be referring to just the reader or the whole group, interpret it how you want; it is possibly implied that the reader is younger than Daryl, but it's never explicitly stated (when I was writing, this I had in mind that they do have an age gap but I didn't want to state so to leave it more open-ended) - the main focus is the reader being less experienced with survival skills and more 'citified', which is the case for a lot of the characters at the beginning of the apocalypse; there is a lot of TWD themes in the fic - death; canon typical violence, hunting and killing animals for food, killing other humans in order to survive, killing walkers, gun violence, mentions of food scarcity, the general emotional depression that comes with being surrounded by death and being on the brink of survival, mentions of Merle being racist and sexist (the fic does not contain him saying any slurs or performing any actions in alignment with this, it is a background element); there is mentions of canon plot points and this fic will spoil Seasons 2 through 5 if you are watching the show for the first time and haven't seen those episodes yet (I am looking at you, Star), mentions of 'fate' and 'good luck' as concepts; bird symbolism (that may not be accurate to the general recordings of these symbols and are just things I have learned from my personal life), mentions of religion - mentions of the reader praying to 'any god that will listen' (the reader is not religious to one specific religion, but believes in prayer) (yes all of the spiritual concepts in this fic come from my personal life lmao); mentions of canon injuries - Daryl being shot with his own crossbow and then being shot in the ear by Andrea; mentions of stitches for medical purposes; use of the term Y/N (I am nothing if not a traditionalist); mentions of alcohol/characters drinking (Beth and Daryl at the moonshine shack) - implications of genetic alcoholism and how it plays into Beth and Daryl's interactions with alcohol; passing mentions of Daryl smoking cigarettes; mentions of Daryl's abusive past (non-detailed); Daryl describes the reader as 'beautiful' in his personal narration; mention of reader having an abusive father (a father who is 'similar to Ed') (this is not described in detail); mentions of suicide (performed by a non-named character not during the time of the story) (also mentions of Daryl having suicidal ideations due to hopelessness when the prison falls); mentions of taking things off of dead bodies because those things are useful for survival; I think that's it.

A/N: I re-wrote the summary like four times cause I actually have no clue how to summarize the essence of the fic. But I hope this fits well. This is way more about the emotions than it is about what's actually happening in the fic. I am really proud of this fic and I hope that you guys like it.

...

Daryl Dixon was someone who came into your life quietly. 

When that original group first made camp at the quarry around Dale’s old RV outside of Atlanta, trying to escape the epic traffic jam and the chilling after effects of the hellish bombs that had been dropped on the city, everyone thought that it would only be temporary. Everyone thought that it would last a few days, at most. Everyone held onto the comforting delusion that it wouldn’t be long until the world got back up on its feet again. 

You certainly never thought that all of the people within that camp would become a second family to you - people you would die for, kill for if needed. 

When you first saw Daryl, he was trying to hold back his drunken brother Merle from getting into a fight with Shane. You didn’t think much of him then - perhaps you wondered why he stood up for someone so sour and surly, but you knew that the loyalty of blood related family meant too much to some people. That he was likely willing to do far too much for someone who would never return the same favors for him. (And you turned out to be right.) 

These days, you thought of Daryl Dixon with increasing frequency and a mixed bag of emotions that you struggled to carry. Bitter nostalgia being at the top of that list. 

When you woke up on this particular morning, you thought of him as you gathered your hunting gear. You heard his quiet, gravelly voice in your ear telling you to travel light, but reminding you that the items you should take would each be important and serve a planned purpose. The knife on your belt was heavy with memories of him, ached with the ghost of his touch. 

You thought of him as you tracked a buck’s steps through the dirt. You thought of him as you crept through the woods, feeling equal parts peaceful and dangerously pensive. You thought of him that night as you sat beside a gently crackling fire, the flames warming you only beside he had taught you how to start one. You thought of him as you eventually took down the deer - as you skinned it, gutted it, and portioned  exactly how he had taught you. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood rinsing off your skin (from when you had cleaned the deer), and the general dirt you had gathered on you from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

But you missed Daryl so damn much. 

It was strange to think that things had been so different not that long ago. 

… 

The quarry was an oddly beautiful place to be during one of the darkest times in your life. 

It was the definition of breathtaking - crystal blue waters, bright green grass, nothing but open space to let the sun shine down on you. None of that city stink from the piled-up, rotting corpses. This far away from Atlanta, it was easy to forget why you were all gathered here, camping out night after night. It was easy to forget that this was about survival and it wasn’t a simple summer vacation. 

Well, it was easy to forget when you weren’t actively staring down that city full of corpses. Which is something that you tried your best to do - forget. You tried to focus on the task in front of you, tried not to let yourself get too bogged down with dread at the idea of the end of the world. 

You knew that the others likely would have called you foolish because of it. But you had to keep your head up in order to keep going. It was how you survived. 

Currently, you were playing a game with the kids - a makeshift game of kickball with an inflatable beach ball that you had gotten for them during your last trip into the city. You were one of the only people that Glenn trusted to go with him. Mainly because you had lived in the city before everything had ‘gone to shit’ - before the bombs. So you knew it well, and you could have his back. 

When Carl accidentally kicked the ball past you, you rushed to get it, and you became slightly hesitant when you saw that it had landed at the feet of Daryl Dixon. He was in deep concentration, gutting and cleaning one of the many squirrels that he had recently caught, his fingers stained red with blood. You had never seen animal butchery in person before, and it did make you slightly squeamish. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, most of those conversations less than four words each, and he was one of the only people in the camp that you were still slightly weary of. 

His generally stoic nature and his brother - his mouthy, racist, sexist asshole of a brother - didn’t exactly make him approachable or friendly. Though you weren’t exactly sure if Daryl agreed with everything that his brother did and said, or if he just stood by the man because he was family. You still took caution, approaching him like you would approach a supposedly tame bear. Very carefully. 

“Sorry,” You quickly apologized for possibly disturbing him as you rushed to grab the ball, and he spared you only a harsh sideways glance as you picked it up. 

“Ain’t nothin’.” He shrugged, his words coming out as they always did, in a quiet grunt. 

Feeling an awkward lull come over you as his intrusive gaze continued to stare you down, you felt more words form in your mouth and spew out your lips before you could stop them. 

“I was just playing kickball with the kids,” You quickly explained, gesturing to the small grassy area about ten feet behind you where Carl and Sophia were standing, waiting for you. 

Daryl’s eyes strayed curiously there, clearly listening, and you continued. 

“I got them this ball when I went on that run with Glenn. And some other things, too. Coloring books, stickers, fake tattoos. Sophia insisted that I needed one,” You chuckled awkwardly, sticking out your hand to show Daryl the glittery blue tattoo of a butterfly that Sophia had put on you. 

He grunted, nodding in reply. 

You weren’t expecting him to speak any further, and it surprised you when he did. 

“‘s good.” He mumbled. “Makes ‘em happy.” 

In the back of his mind, he considered adding on some sentiment about ‘kids being kids’, getting to have fun during such a dark time - but he stopped short. He didn’t want to annoy you with the conversation that you were clearly only partaking in out of social nicety. Politeness that a world falling apart no longer needed. 

You nodded, flashing him a smile. “Yeah.” 

“Come on! Bring the ball back!” Carl shouted, distracting you from the interaction, causing you to walk away without another word. 

Daryl watched you playing with the kids for a few moments - laughing and running around with them, somehow so carefree in a world that was determined to fall apart. He wondered if you had always been like this, or if being around kids just brought that out in you. He wasn’t sure which reason made you better in his eyes - and he certainly wasn’t sure why he thought about it for so long. 

Why he thought about you for so long. 

He had to shake himself back to reality and go back to cleaning his kills. 

…

“Daryl!” 

You called out his name as you jogged up toward the stables, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up with him. 

“Daryl, hey.” You greeted him with a small smile. “Rick told me you’d be up here.” 

He grunted in reply. “Yeah. ‘m gonna take a horse out. Make better ground t’ look for the girl.” 

Your stomach clenched at him mentioning Sophia. 

The group was supposed to be headed out towards Fort Benning - supposed to be finding refuge at the hopefully safe military base. Instead, you were all setting up camp at the very reluctant Hershel Greene’s farm, not straying too far from where you had lost one of your own in the hopes of finding her. 

But that was why you had come to talk to Daryl in the first place. 

Sophia had become like a sister to you in the few short months that you had known her. And though everyone else kept telling you it was deeply unlikely, you were hopeful that she was alive - that she would be found. And you did believe that Daryl would be the one to find her. 

“How’s the trail?” You asked. “Do you think you know which way she headed? You - you can be honest with me.” 

You hesitated on the last part. But you did want his honesty more than anything. You knew that he was never one to sugar-coat things. Even if you hadn’t told him that, he would give you the truth. 

“Trail’s a little muddy.” He said, doling out that honesty. “‘m gon follow the river. It’s her biggest landmark out there, so she’ll probably be somewhere round it.” 

You smiled at him. And then, you remembered - 

“I brought you something.” You noted, reaching for the back pocket of your jeans. 

Daryl watched with quiet curiosity as you pulled out a piece of paper - when you showed it to him, he quickly realized that it was a half-used set of stickers. 

“These are some of the stickers that I got for Sophia,” You explained. “My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.” 

You peeled off a sticker of a bright red bird with a pointed head and a black pattern that resembled an eye mask - as much of a nature man as he was, Daryl was never one for bird watching. He didn’t care about identifying certain species of birds unless he could shoot and eat them. But he quickly reasoned that this must be the cardinal that you spoke of. 

“Give me your bow.” You said, shoving the rest of the sticker sheet into your back pocket again and holding out your hand expectantly. 

“I don’t need no luck.” He replied, voice full of snark. 

In a sense, he thought it was… sweet. You were trying to share some of that brightness with him that the kids got every single day. But he didn’t need you marking up his crossbow with a dumb little sticker. Especially because once Sophia was found, you wouldn’t give a shit to talk to him or be around him any more. 

“Just give it.” You replied - equally snarky, equally stubborn. 

Daryl sighed and tugged his bow’s strap over his head, presenting it to you. You placed the sticker on the bow’s handle, in one of the places where it wasn’t as worn down from him holding it. 

“There,” You said, giving it back to him with a smile. “Now you’re all set.” 

It was more for you than it was for him - a token of good faith and protection. The idea that you could do something to bring Sophia home when you felt so powerless. 

Daryl let out a harsh sound - somewhere between a laugh and a sarcastic snort as he walked away. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” You replied brightly, edging into a sarcasm of your own. 

He resisted the urge to flip you off, believing that you were too sensitive to take it as a joke. 

You watched him off for a while, seeing him disappear into the stables before you left to do your own chores. As you scrubbed at laundry, you sent a prayer to every god you could think of that your new little sister would be found alive. 

… 

Daryl felt like a dumbass. 

When Daryl was laying on the harsh, rocky ground after the horse had thrown him, with one of his own arrows digging into his side - he wanted to laugh at the fact that you had supposedly ‘blessed’ his bow with ‘good luck’. He had owned and used the bow for years previous, and not once had he ever been injured by it. You had it in your hands for all five seconds, and now - he had been thrown off a horse and shot by the damn thing. It was the definition of irony. 

While he laid on the ground, struggling for breath, bleeding from his wound, drifting in and out of consciousness - he spotted a flash of bright red above him. 

He managed to pry his eyes open long enough to properly focus on it, and - 

It was your damn bird. 

A bright red cardinal had landed in one of the trees above him, staring down at him in a seemingly taunting manner. 

‘My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.’ 

“Good… good luck… my ass.” Daryl huffed out, still spiteful even if he was exhausted and losing blood. Even if no one else was around to hear this verbal jab. 

His head lulled to the side, and before his eyes could drift closed as he truly succumbed to the blood loss, he spotted something else - a bright floral fabric, and some strings of yarn that definitely didn’t belong in the muddy creek bed. Once again, he forced himself to focus on it, pushing through the heaviness that threatened to overtake him. He realized in a heart-jolting moment that he had seen the object before. 

It was Sophia’s doll. 

He turned back to where the bird was still sitting on that branch above him. 

“Any… any chance you can lead me to the girl?” 

Perhaps it was the dizziness of his injury talking, but he could have sworn that the bird tiled its head at him - as though quizzically asking: ‘what girl?’

It was the spite that kept him conscious, the idea that he would get to laugh in your face when he got back and tell you how unlucky your ‘blessing’ had been. But it was his desire to find Sophia and bring her home that truly got him up on his feet again. 

… 

Your bird didn’t lead him to Sophia, but it did get him back to the farm before he completely collapsed from his injury - even if he was greeted by a bullet from Andrea, believing he was a Walker. 

Because of that bullet sharply colliding with his head, he didn’t remember to tell you about that bird finding him laying in the creek bed until much later. It didn’t come back to mind until the group had truly settled into the prison, after welcoming in the people from Woodbury when the ‘war’ with the Governor was seemingly over. He only thought about it that night when the two of you were up late on watch because he had seen another cardinal on one of his runs that day, and he was telling you how much the damn bird had annoyed him. 

Daryl wasn’t someone who believed in luck, but he knew that the story would entertain you nonetheless. And it did. 

In fact, it entertained you so much that it caused you to plant a confident hand on his shoulder and lean in for a kiss - sealing your mouth against his, trapping any noises of surprise in his throat as he stood frozen, pinned against the guard rail. 

He only truly had time to take in what had happened - to process that sweet, perfect kiss after you had chirped a ‘goodnight’ to him and left. You mentioned something about going on a morning run with Glenn and Sasha to scope out a place with more supplies, but his ears were still beating with blood and he barely heard you. 

He had to get used to it then - being yours. But he found that even though the hand-holding and the hugging could be a bit embarrassing at times - he liked it. He liked having someone taking care of him as much as he tried to take care of others. And though it was something he had desperately tried to deny because of your stubbornness and your sharp tongue - he liked you. He was beginning to love you in that dangerous way that was going to get him hurt. 

But he would deny that. And he would do anything to stop that from happening. 

And that was one of the most dangerous parts about it. 

… 

It wasn’t just you that he was willing to die in order to protect. Daryl had gotten dangerously attached to life at the prison. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had a home. Family, friends. As soon as Hershel told them about the veterinary college, about a place where there might be medicine to combat this strange flu that had suddenly struck his home and the people in it - he knew he had to get a group together. 

Before he went outside to get the car ready, and make sure he had all the equipment inside it, he stopped by your cell. It would be rude not to say goodbye. 

His stomach dropped when he heard coughing. 

“Y/N-” He spoke your name in that alarming tone, concern so ripe in the single word as he pulled aside the curtain you had hung across your door for privacy. 

You cut him off before he could say anymore. 

“I know.” You said, your voice annoyed and slightly strained from the illness clearly running through your body. “I need to go into Cellblock A for quarantine. I’m - I’m on my way there now. I’m just gathering up some stuff. My sketchbook and some novels. I’m guessing it’ll be boring as shit in there,” 

Daryl nodded, and moved to step into your cell, wanting to place his hand on your forehead to check you for a fever. He wanted to know how bad it was - how much time he had to get back with the medicine. 

“Don’t come any closer.” You said abruptly, raising your hand to keep him back. “I don’t - don’t wanna get you sick too.” 

Hesitantly, he stayed where he was. 

He knew that you were right, and he knew that it was weak of him - but he found himself craving the affection that he previously found annoying. He had been hoping that you would hug him before he left. 

“‘m goin’ on a run.” He said. “Hershel told us ‘bout this old veterinary college - he said there’s medicine that could help.” 

“Medicine for dogs?” You heaved out a laugh, strained and full of crud in your lungs, collapsing to sit on the edge of your bunk. 

Daryl shrugged. 

“Apparently it’s the same as medicine for people.” Then, after a moment of you staring at him with uncertainty, he added on: “He gave us a list.” He assured you, patting his breast pocket, where that list was currently sitting. 

You nodded. Naturally, you trusted Daryl. You had to, after everything you had been through together. 

Then, you turned to the bag that you had been packing up and took out a sketchbook that looked familiar to Daryl - one that he often saw you doodling in. You flicked through a few of the pages and then ripped one out, presenting it to him with an extended arm. You covered your mouth and nose with your shirt, seemingly for the assurance that you wouldn’t breathe on him so that he could come and fetch this from you. 

He took one step closer and grabbed the paper, and you coughed into your shirt as he stepped back and inspected the drawing. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was a beautifully drawn sketch of a cardinal - shaded red with what he guessed were smudges of lipstick. He was almost sure that you had picked it up at one of the houses the group had stayed in during the long winter after they had to abandon the Greene farm. 

“For - for luck.” You told him between more coughs, letting your shirt down to smile at him. 

He knew by now not to attempt rejecting the symbol. He wouldn’t say that he believed in it - but he believed in you. And he wanted to have you with him. So he folded it up and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right next to the list that Hershel had given him. 

“You’re a fool.” He griped, half-winded, only half meaning it. 

You smiled brightly at him, your face clearly tired from feeling so ill. 

“You love me.” You replied with utter certainty. 

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to point out that this was a growing problem. That it would pull his focus during the run for the medicine - that he would be distracted thinking about getting home and getting that medicine to you. 

“Now go on and get,” He told you, motioning toward Cellblock A. 

You gathered your things and got up, making a wide berth around Daryl as you walked down the stairs. 

“And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about you bein’ heroic neither.” He called after you, shouting at your back. “You’re gonna go in there n get your ass t’ bed, ya hear me?” 

You knew it was his way of caring - wanting you to rest when you were sick. 

You turned back and gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss - something he often remarked upon as being ‘childish’. He hated that it caused a flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t help that his form of affection in return was to flip you off. You loved it just as much. 

… 

That was the last time you spoke to him before the prison fell. But it wasn’t the last time that he spoke to you. 

When he got back, you were unconscious - you had to be bagged by Hershel to help you breathe, and the medicine helped you survive. Just barely. Daryl held your hand and begged you to live, and eventually he had to be distracted away from your unconscious body by Maggie so that he wouldn’t simply sit there the whole time and mourn. She reminded him that they all had jobs to do, and he made a few rounds of the prison, busying himself with chores to help everyone else get by so that he wouldn’t drive himself insane at your bedside. 

And that’s what he had been doing when the Governor rolled up with a thousand pound tank and shot their walls down. 

He knew that his love for you would come back to bite him in the ass one day. 

…

Daryl got out with Beth. 

He almost couldn’t stand her bright, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’, telling him that they needed to go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done. 

It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it was a ‘when’, not an ‘if’. All too hopeful, all too damn certain. 

Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning? 

“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently. 

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism. 

Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you. 

“Here.” He grunted at her. 

Beth smiled at him. 

It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time. 

When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he carefully looked them over to confirm it, and he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there. 

It was just a cold reminder that even if the others had gotten out of the prison, they could be dead. They likely were dead. 

The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind. 

One hazy evening, as he and Beth both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it. 

For good luck. 

He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead. 

He tossed the drawing into the fire, ready to burn it up along with anything he had ever felt for you. Only a moment later, when the corner of it had barely caught, just barely turning black, Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it. 

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him. 

Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a harsh grunt, but refused to look at her. 

“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed. 

He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer. 

He didn’t give her one. 

Just because they had an unspoken agreement to help keep each other alive didn’t mean that he had to participate in stupid conversations with her. 

“You can’t burn up the past. You can’t burn your love for people just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed, tired and defiant. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone. We’re all gonna be together again.” 

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.” 

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject. 

After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could. And then put it back into his breast pocket again. 

But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories. He wished that Beth was wrong. 

He wished that you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. 

… 

When Daryl sat up in camp that night with his back to the trunk of a tree, he did not intend to fall asleep. He honestly did not think he was capable of doing so - even with the exhaustion so deep in his bones, he was used to going without sleep. He was used to trudging on much like the Walkers shambling around them - upright, puffing shallow breaths, but barely there, barely conscious. These days, he felt as though sleep was a luxury. 

As the fire died down, Beth turned over with her back to him, curling an elbow under her head, the only thing separating her from the dirt. She no longer bothered with the mockering of grunting out ‘night’ as an acknowledgement that she was trying to go to sleep (because she stopped saying ‘goodnight’, long ago, even at the prison, because those were few and far between). 

Daryl supposed that he was staying up to keep watch. They did have the cans and spare car parts scattered around on lines to make noise if any stray Walkers wandered near their camp. He knew that he slept light, and this would be more than enough noise to wake him if he did fall asleep. 

With his eyes locked on her back, he wondered if Beth slept at all these days, or if she simply laid down to fake it. Maybe so that she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, even for a few hours. Sometimes, he would notice the grip on her knife beside her head go a bit laxer, and believe that this was a true sign that she had actually managed to drift into unconsciousness. Still, even if she wasn’t sleeping, he should keep watch. 

Daryl hadn’t intended to fall asleep. 

Daryl’s consciousness was jolted suddenly - his entire existence shaken by the feeling of someone - something grabbing his legs. When he looked down, he saw the blur of a snarling Walker crawling up his body. He panicked, his heart thudding hard inside his chest. Naturally, he reached for his crossbow beside him - grabbing, hands shaking, grasping at air. 

It was gone. It wasn’t there. What the hell? 

One of the cold hands grabbed his shirt, forcing him to look back down the length of his own body at the beast. When its head snapped up toward him, he was filled with a colder kind of shock. 

It was you. 

Though your once beautiful features had been tainted with rot, yellowing teeth, and your laughter filled eyes had turned sour and rotted like putrid eggs - he absolutely recognized that this was you. 

He sucked more gasping breaths, and reached for the knife on his belt, but - that was gone too. 

Then, somehow - you let out a dark, harrowing laugh. A laugh that shook everything he was, that somehow managed to echo through the trees and rattled the ground underneath him. An utter mockery of his entire existence. 

“This is all your fault, Daryl.” You spewed, your rotting mouth spilling out horrible, black blood. “You did this to me!” 

Then, in an utterly horrifying moment, you reached down and tore into him - your weak, dead hands easily ripping into his abdomen, and before his very eyes, you ripped out his guts so that you could consume him like a perfect, bloody feast. Just as you had in life, you dined on parts of him that he would never get back, stole his life force with no consideration as to how he would ever get it back. 

You didn’t care how he would survive without you. 

Daryl awoke with a start - the sound of the cans clanking at the edge of their small campsite forcing him back to reality with a harsh jolt. 

His fingers wrapped around his crossbow where it was seated between his knees within seconds. Before his sleep-sticky eyes were even fully open, he had the loaded end pointed at the source of the sound - a tired, messy-haired Beth, who was wandering back into camp with her hands full of something. 

“Told you not to go wonderin’ off.” Daryl barked at her easily, hating how his heart thumped in his chest with residual ‘fight or flight’ instincts, even though he knew that she was of no true threat to him - still partially spooked from the horrible dream that he would never tell anybody about, ever. 

He slumped back against the tree, keeping a careful eye on her as she came back to her place beside him, already spouting her surly argument against him. 

“I saw some berry bushes over there.” She whined quietly. “Daddy taught me what’s safe and-” 

“Don’t matter.” Daryl grunted in return, hating that he felt a sensitive pang inside of him at the mention of Hershel. “I told you: don’t go nowhere without me.” 

Beth let out a sharp sigh. “You’re such an asshole.” 

He was. 

Nonetheless, she silently slid some of the berries his way, carefully contained on the bandana that he had given her before for such berry-picking purposes - and nonetheless, he ate them. 

Later that day, when he was prowling the woods with Beth at his back, hoping to score something a bit more substantial for dinner - his eyes landed on the faded splotch of the cardinal sticker that you had put on his crossbow during his time spent looking for Sophia. His thumb traced it idly, and he knew that Beth was dying to ask about it, but held back. 

He knew then that he would never be able to escape your ghost. 

… 

Daryl wished that he could burn up the memories. He wished that you would get the hell out of his head. That if you were dead, every last trace of you would just die. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he had seen you - back in A block, after he had brought back the medicine. 

… 

He thought it was a victory - getting the meds back to the prison. He thought that it was simple. If he got to the veterinary college, got the meds that they needed, got the run group back in one piece - he thought it would be a win. He knew you. You were a fighter. You would hold on long enough for him to get back. He had to do all the guesswork. He had to keep everyone going on the road. 

If anything, he knew that you would be doing the exact opposite of what he had told you - you would be up and about, shuffling through the makeshift ward, feeding the people the hope that you grew and doled out so well. That was your job. He just had to do his. 

Maybe it was that stupid, foolish hope infecting him like the illness had infected you - but he truly thought that getting the medication and getting back would be the only complicated part. 

“Hey, Doc, how we doin’ in here?” Daryl asked, stepping to lean against the mouth of the cell that you had taken up temporary residence in.  

Of course, he was calling Hershel ‘doc’ with a joking air. The man loved to tell everyone now that he wasn’t actually a doctor - but few actually listened. They trusted his experience and the way he spoke with wise authority more than anything. 

Hershel used a stethoscope to listen to your lungs, and then looked up at Daryl, his face firm and unreadable. Daryl didn’t like it - but he was still being strung along like a fish on a hook by that foolish, bitter hope. 

“Y/N is doing a lot better than before.” He said, placing a gentle hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. “The meds have helped to take down the fever.” 

Daryl nodded. “Tha’s good.” 

Hershel gave him a serious look. “I like you a lot, Daryl. So I don’t intend to lie to you.” 

Daryl’s stomach clenched up - grabbed by a fist of nerves. 

You were alive. You were breathing - Daryl confirmed this, locking his eyes on the gentle up and down puff of your chest. What else could possibly be wrong? 

“Our friend here is showing remarkable signs of improvement, as is everyone who received the medication that you brought back. You have done a mighty service to these people, Daryl.”

Daryl knew this wasn’t simple praise for the work he had done. This was the sunshine before the storm - it was an omen. He could feel the ‘but’ coming before Hershel spoke it. 

“But,” 

Of course. There it was. 

“-I have to warn you.” Hershel sighed. “We had to perform CPR on Y/N for an extended period of time.” 

Daryl’s eyes cast over your face, fixated on your peaceful, unconscious form. His ears became fuzzy, filled with blood, and he could hardly focus on more of the older man’s words as he explained your condition. Explained how you had been deprived of oxygen for a few minutes - how you were at risk of brain death, and Hershel had no way of knowing what the state of your brain activity was without the proper equipment. If your brain wasn’t active enough, you would never wake up again. 

All they could do now was to sit and wait for you to wake up. If you were going to wake up at all. 

Hershel left Daryl alone with you, and he perched himself on the edge of your bed, his ass shuffled in tightly by the edge of your hip, struggling to find purchase on the edge of the small bunk. It was much like you had done to him after he had been haphazardly shot by Andrea. He took your hand in his, his eyes still focused on your unconscious face - at least you looked peaceful. 

With a large knot forming in his throat, he attempted to speak. 

Even though he was unsure if you could hear him - he couldn’t contain what he had to say. 

“You’re an asshole.” He mumbled out. Part of him was expecting to get a reaction out of you. To mock you into waking up. “I went through all that damn trouble to get those meds, and you gone n croaked on me while I was gone?” 

Your face didn’t even flinch. 

You were so damn still. 

For the first time since he had met you - not laughing, not smiling, not loudly voicing your chirpy, hopeful sentiments. So still. 

“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He growled out, his voice growing louder as his frustration grew inside of him - as he became more determined to wake you. “You’re gonna wake up. Wake up!” He shouted, his words echoing painfully off the walls. 

In the next cell over, Maggie heard this and became distracted from dabbing a wet cloth against Glenn’s forehead. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness, still too sick to fully take this in. But it caused Maggie to strain her ears, listening in on what happened next. 

“You’re gonna wake up. You’re gonna-” 

Daryl was startled when he found himself choking on his own words. He sucked in a sharp breath, and despite his best efforts, a sob rattled his chest, and a hot tear rolled down his face. 

“Why do I gotta to everythin’ around here? You set me off into the woods lookin’ for Sophia like it was my damn job. Make everythin’ my damn responsibility. I had to teach you everythin’. I had to teach you how to start a damn fire - what kind of simple asshole doesn’t know that?” 

He swallowed thickly. 

Truly, he wasn’t angry at you. 

It all came down to one thing. 

“Come on. Come - o-on. You know I can’t do this on my own.” He choked out, his face shrinking into a sob. “I can’t do this on my own.” 

He turned more toward you, laying himself down gently so that his face was pressed into your chest. He turned his head - laying his ear against your chest, listening carefully for your heart beat. It was there - thumping along steadily. 

Hershel had warned him that your breathing wasn’t the problem. Brain damage would keep you from waking up because your nervous system wouldn’t be active again. 

If you didn’t wake up, would you still turn into one of them? 

According to what Jenner had told them at the CDC, maybe not. 

Maybe you just be like this forever - stuck somewhere in the middle. Some hollow thing for Daryl to scream at that would never answer back. 

“You gotta wake up.” Daryl choked out. Knowing that only you would hear, he gathered up the bravery to speak out his next words. “I - I love you.” 

In the next cell over - Maggie heard all of it. She was holding Glenn’s hand, wondering what she would do if she were in Daryl’s shoes. She now had muddy tears in her eyes, listening to Daryl plead to you to wake up. Hearing Daryl - someone who had been so stony and tough in her eyes before - cry for the first time - it hit her hard. 

So it got her up; she kissed Glenn’s hand and told him that she would be back later, and he mumbled something incoherent back. 

“Daryl.” 

Maggie felt guilty when he jumped up - clearly alarmed by her presence at the opening of the cell, breaking his bubble of alone time with you. He began to frantically wipe at his face, obviously afraid to be vulnerable in front of her by showing his tears. After all that they had been through together - he still wasn’t willing to show this weakness in front of her. 

He only grunted in acknowledgment of her, staring hard at the floor instead of looking up at her. 

“These people need water. And they could probably use a good meal after all this.” Maggie told him. “I know you wanna stay with Y/N right now, but - come on, we all got jobs to do.” 

Daryl nodded. “Right. You’re right.” 

They did have jobs to do. But of course, the main reason she reminded him of the chores was to distract him. To keep him from going insane at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up. 

And that was the last he had seen of you before the Governor blasted a hole in A Block with the tank. 

…

When Daryl and Beth got to the moonshine shack, it truly came to a head. 

Daryl didn’t want to play the stupid game - he just wanted to drink in peace. He wanted to get shitfaced and hopefully pass out, actually. He wanted to have a good, booze-induced heavy sleep so that he could spend one night not plagued with spotty sleep and nightmares of your death - seeing your face painted in his mind as a nightmarish, growling dead thing. One night where he didn’t stay awake and stare at the back of Beth’s sleeping head because he couldn’t bear to close his own eyes. 

He didn’t want to play the game, but he did anyway. 

It got out of hand. 

Instead of trying to calm down, he rode the wave, leaning into the only existence he thought he knew - he turned back into the sputtering, bitter asshole that had once protected him so well. The hard shell that had kept him from getting his feelings hurt when the world had been cruel to him before. When Beth stabbed the Walker in the head, ending his game, he grew all too worried that she had figured him out - that she would try to get him to talk about his feelings. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Daryl howled. “We was havin’ fun!” 

He knew it wasn’t true. Nothing about this was fun. 

“No, you were being a jackass!” Beth easily corrected him. 

She was far too much like you. Too direct. Never one to dance around the point instead of saying exactly what she meant. 

“If anyone found my dad-” 

Daryl was eager to cut off her additional reasoning, not wanting to think about it - he couldn’t add the mental image of a turned, dead-alive Hershel to his nightmare rotation as well. 

“Don’t!” He barked back, making her swallow up her words. “That ain’t remotely the same!” 

He had to convince himself of that fact. This random Walker pinned to a tree wasn’t family. At least - it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t his family. 

Beth gave him a tight-jawed look, staring him down with those large, knowing eyes. In that moment, he could hear your voice in his head, telling him exactly what she wanted to say. 

‘It’s someone’s family, Daryl. That Walker used to be someone. He used to belong to someone - he used to be important to someone. You need to consider that.’ 

Instead, Beth countered with something a bit more broad. 

“Killing them is not supposed to be fun.” 

She scolded him like a child, and he felt intensely small in that moment. He hated it. 

“What do you want from me, girl?” He warbled out, barely able to find his voice. 

He barely had anything left to give. 

He was a shit protector - as he had proven, unable to stop the prison walls from collapsing on top of you. Unable to hunt down the Governor - unable to keep him from rolling up to the gates with a fucking tank and blowing your house down. 

He was a terrible tracker - unable to find any of the people they had lost from the prison. He couldn’t provide anything for Beth that she couldn’t get for herself. She was more than capable. She was likely only with him now to stop him from going off into the woods and laying down to die. It was likely out of some mental obligation towards you, because she fully believed that you were still alive. 

He didn’t have anything left to give. 

After a moment of Daryl waiting with baited breath, she gave an answer. 

“I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anythin’.” She announced firmly. 

That would be difficult for him. Because currently, that was the only way he was surviving. He gave way too much of a crap about everything - and turning it all off was the only way he got through. 

“Like nothing we went through matters.” She added on. “Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It’s bullshit!” 

It was bullshit. 

“Is that what you think?” Daryl countered sourly. 

He cared too much about all of them. It all mattered too much. 

If he turned that switch back on - if he let himself care again - it would break him. 

“That’s what I know.” She whispered tightly near his face, all hot drunken breath. 

“You don’t know nothin’.” He spat back bitterly, absolutely assured of this fact. 

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead person.” Beth dueled on, determined to make her own point. “I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carl, I’m not Maggie, I’m not Glenn…. I’m not Y/N.” 

She knew that mentioning your name was sensitive, but she did it anyway, as if hoping to evoke some positive emotion out of Daryl. As if hoping to wake him from his dreary hopelessness. She hoped that mentioning you among the list of people that she still concretely believed to be alive would shake him, make him believe it too. 

She noticed that Daryl refused to make eye contact when she said it. 

When he didn’t say anything about it, she continued on. 

“I survived, and you don’t get it, cause I’m not like you or them - but, I made it.” 

She spoke passionately, determined about the point. If she had made it - someone who used to be so soft, someone who still needed to be protected - then why hadn’t everyone else made it? 

“And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.” 

Somehow, among all that, one singular point stood out to Daryl. 

“I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” He grumbled back. 

To him, it was a horrid accusation. 

He had already lost everything that was important to him - what could fear possibly do to him now? 

Fear was the stupid, idiotic thing that had held him back in the first place. It had kept him from going after the Governor alongside Michonne. It had kept him tethered to the prison, stuck to your side watching you to make sure that you were safe. And look what it had gotten him. 

Nothing but ruin. Nothing but ashes. 

Beth looked contemplative for a moment, and Daryl hoped that she would finally just shut up. But then, like an unstoppable, sickly bile - the words came spilling from her lips. 

“I remember.” She announced. Before he could wonder what she was talking about, she continued on. “Back when you first came to the farm. The way you were - out combing the woods like a madman, looking for a little girl that wasn’t even yours. You never gave up hope, not once.” 

Daryl swallowed down his own words. 

He wasn’t some damn fool. He wouldn’t even begin to call it hope. He called it the truth - a little girl lost in the woods shouldn’t be hard to find. Like he had told Andrea at the time - it was the backwoods of Georgia, not the mountains of Tibet. It wasn’t the way that everyone else made it out to be. 

“Maggie told me that you cried when Y/N wouldn’t wake up.” 

Beth added on - to Daryl it felt like a mockery, a clever prodding at his vulnerability. But to her, it was just another observation. 

“That’s why you’re not out there, followin’ the trail. That’s why you’re not even botherin’ to look. You would spend months out there tryna find Y/N if you actually thought-” 

“Shut it.” Daryl grunted, cutting off her words. 

“You are afraid, Daryl.” Beth told him - and chills went through him as he realized that she had seen right through him. But like a prey animal staring down a predator, he kept stiff eye contact, trying his hardest not to let her know that he was weak. “You’re afraid of findin’ nothin’. And now you’re actin’ like it’s my damn fault.” 

When he didn’t speak up to make any apologies for this, she snidely added on:

“God forbid you ever let anybody get too close, right?” 

“Too close, huh?” Daryl reared back dully, gearing up for another fierce charge in the argument as things got all too personal. “You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends - you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!” 

He knew that he was being unjustly cruel to her - that on some level, he was taking it out on her just because he could. 

But he couldn’t let her talk anymore about him and his fucking feelings. Especially not about how he acted around you. God forbid that big precious four letter word came up. He needed to pull the knife out of himself and turn it around onto her. 

“Screw you! You don’t get it.” She easily snapped back. 

“No, you don’t get it!” He roared out, quickly growing tired of the seemingly pointless back and forth. “Everyone we know’s dead!” 

Beth looked icy shocked by the statement, but quickly argued against it. 

“You don’t know that!” She screeched bitterly at him. 

“Might as well be!” He yelled back. “Cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” 

Finally, they had come around to his entire reasoning - the whole fact as to why he had so faithfully given up. Even if they weren’t dead, he believed that he might as well operate on the assumption that they were. 

Of course - Beth was operating on the opposite mindset. Killing time, getting by, surviving until she believed that she would inevitably be reunited with her sister, and the other members of their newfound family. 

Beth let out a whimper as the truth of it hit her - as she fought past it. Battling internally as a small voice in the back of her mind said: ‘he might be right’. 

“Rick…” Daryl hesitated to list more people. Even now, he hesitated to say your name. “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!” 

It was a bitter personal attack, but he was putting on that hard outer shell - hoping to get Beth to become just as cold as he was. If she gave up, then she would leave him alone. She would stop trying to inject that stupid, putrid ‘hope’ into him. 

But of course, that infallible hope could not be stomped out of her. No matter what. 

“Daryl, just stop!” She begged quietly, and then - she reached out for him. Attempting to give him some comforting touch. 

The last time he had been touched by someone was when he had held your hand without you even knowing, staring at your unconscious face, waiting for you to wake up. Aside from that - a gentle pat on the shoulder from Hershel, assuring him that everything would be okay. 

But both you and Hershel were dead now. 

Daryl’s touch was a disease that he would not let Beth catch. 

He whipped away from her quickly, and turned to face the dead Walker that was still pinned to the tree. 

He used to belong to someone. 

That was how Daryl felt now. Used up and dead. Nothing but a past tense in someone else’s life. 

“The Governor rolled right up to our gates.” Daryl’s throat clenched tightly around the words. He could barely speak about it, but it was true. “Maybe if I… I wouldn’t’ve stopped lookin’. Maybe it’s cause I gave up? That’s on me!” 

He was supposed to keep you safe. He was supposed to keep everyone safe. 

He had failed. 

“Daryl-” Beth choked out, trying again - but she didn’t have anything to follow up. She couldn’t find anything to combat this particular chasm of self blame. 

“Your dad… maybe I coulda done somethin’.” He choked on a sob, and tears clouded his eyes now. 

It was his attempt at an apology. But he hadn’t even begun to forgive himself yet - so why the hell would Beth forgive him? 

Hershel’s death had been his fault. Your death had been his fault. 

The others… even if they were alive, their home was destroyed and now they were vulnerable to a cruel world. And it was all Daryl’s fault. 

Daryl finally broke down in sobs, and he didn’t have enough energy to fight off the touch when Beth leaned into him, hugging him from behind. 

He couldn’t muster up any more breath to better apologize to her for all he had done, but he hoped that it was implied. 

… 

Things were a bit more smoothed over later that night, when Beth was drunker and Daryl had sobered up some. 

“Is it always like this?” Beth sighed, staring out at the grass with a delighted smile. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant. She was clutching a half-filled jar of the moonshine like it was precious, her eyes glassy - obviously no longer fearful of going blind because of the stuff. 

“You’re lucky.” Daryl remarked. “You’re a happy drunk.” 

Beth let out another contented sigh, and then after a moment, and another sip of the moonshine (which she was taking down without hesitation now), she spoke up again. 

“You’re wrong.” She told him calmly, seeming very confident in this fact. 

Daryl was tired of talking, but too curious not to reply. 

“Bout what?” He asked. 

“They’re not dead.” She told him. “They’re out there somewhere. All of them. And we’re gonna find them.” 

Daryl wanted to believe her. Some tiny part of him wanted to embrace this as truth. But at this point - it felt too much like fiction. Without his family standing in front of him, pure proof that they were alive and well - he couldn’t let himself partake in that paper thin hope. He couldn’t let himself get high on the hope only to come crashing down from that high in the worst way. He couldn’t let himself be hurt again. 

He only grunted in reply, staring at the worn floorboards of the porch, hoping the conversation would naturally frazzle out. 

Of course, Beth didn’t let that happen. 

“Come on,” She said in a nagging tone. “You don’t really believe that Y/N is dead, do you?” 

Daryl wasn’t sure what he believed. 

Before this, before the dead had risen up and walked the earth, he had spent his whole life focusing on truth. Concrete truth. 

For as long as he had been alive, that truth had been hopeless. His father had beaten him, his brother was an asshole, what little he knew of his mother was a drunken slur ultimately engulfed in flames. He had fended for himself most of his life. He never knew hope or optimism. He never spoke of luck or brightness or tipping the odds in his favor. 

Not until he met you. 

You laughed so genuinely; you sang the praises of looking on the bright side and blessing people with good luck. And he found that at times - he started to believe you. 

But having the Governor roll right up to their gates and blow apart their home wasn’t exactly conducive with everything you had been preaching. Having you sick and likely dead under a pile of concrete, unconscious and crushed without even knowing it wasn’t exactly in line with the ‘good luck’ that you supposedly had. 

Even if you didn’t know it, you had been feeding Daryl lies the whole time. And those lies had ruined him. 

Daryl couldn’t hold out hope that you or anybody else that he had known and loved from the prison were alive. 

“Don’t know.” Daryl grunted in reply. He kept his answer vague, not wanting to stir up another argument with Beth. 

“Yes, you do know.” Beth chuckled lightly in reply. 

Still ever the optimist. Still so damn certain. 

Daryl grunted again. Even if he didn’t agree with her, he wanted the day to end calmly, at the very least. 

“Can I see it again?” Beth asked, suddenly changing the subject. 

Again, this was a confusing little whip for Daryl - something that clearly only made sense to Beth in her own drunken mind. 

“What?” Daryl replied. 

“The picture.” Beth answered. “The one you tried to burn.” 

Daryl felt a pinch of guilt surge over him at the thought. Oddly enough, this was the one time he would be willing to admit that Beth was right - you can’t burn up memories. He was still glad to have a token of you with him, even if he would never get to see you again. 

“It was Y/N, wasn’t it? That drew it.” Beth added on, her words slurring slightly. She lifted the mason jar of booze to her lips again and Daryl was tempted to snatch it away from her. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t her chaperone - she was an adult, and if she wanted to get drunk enough to have a nasty hangover, then that was her choice to make. 

Instead, he found his hand drifting to his breast pocket and reaching to take the picture out. He presented it to Beth, who put down her drink to unfold it. She stared at the picture fondly under the brightness of the moonlight, tracing a finger over the slightly faded details. 

“You know… my daddy used to tell me that a cardinal is like an angel.” Beth said, recognizing the bird from her father’s teachings on the farm. “Someone - someone you loved who passed away, watching over you from heaven.” 

Daryl found this to be a nice thought. He could imagine Hershel’s voice in his head, saying something like this while pointing to the bird among the trees. 

“Y/N said they was good luck.” Daryl replied. 

It was the first time in a long time that he had gathered the courage to actually speak about you aloud, and he found a painful tugging in his chest because of it. 

Beth shrugged. “Same thing.” 

It was this thought that kept Daryl going for a long time. The idea that even if you were dead, you were watching over him somehow. He sure as hell didn’t believe that someone like Merle would be an angel - but you, you definitely were. And even if it was a waste of your eternal life, you would be determined to watch over Daryl - to make sure that he was safe, well-guided. 

You would make sure that he was lucky. 

That thought alone carried him through the long journey to D.C. 

It was something that lingered in his mind as the group hunkered down in a random barn - as he spotted something carved into one of the wooden beams holding the place up. Even though it wasn’t colored, he could have sworn that the long tail and pointed head of the silhouette indicated that the carving was meant to be cardinal. Of course. 

Who knows who had stayed in the barn before them - if it had been left there by a weary traveler, or even put there by someone who had used the barn before the Turn. But Daryl could have sworn that you - your ghost, your angelic hand - had led him to this very spot. 

It was a thought that gave him strength as he held the doors up - helped to keep them from caving in while the storm raged outside. 

Your luck, and your damn bird - you would keep him safe. 

When they reached Alexandria, and they were forced to give up their weapons - Daryl spotted your bird perched on the fence. Bright red, with its pointy head cocked sideways at him. All too knowing, staring at him like it wanted to say something. Just like it had been when he had fallen off the cliff out in the woods when he had been looking for Sophia. 

Oddly enough, it made him feel safe giving up his crossbow - perching his precious weapon on top of the fully loaded cart before the awkward, bespeckled woman wheeled it away. 

Rick was still weary of this new place after everything that had happened at Terminus, and Daryl understood. He followed Rick’s lead. Especially because he couldn’t tell Rick that he had a good feeling about this place because he saw a damn bird. Even if he was feeling such foolish things, he knew that he couldn’t speak them aloud. 

(He couldn’t speak them aloud to anybody but you. And well…) 

But even if it was just in spirit, he felt you there. He knew that it was the home you had chosen for them. 

So Daryl entered the strangely clean suburban home that Aaron had picked out for them and tried to imagine himself truly living there. He tried to think of Alexandria as his new home now. Because he knew that it’s what you would have wanted for him.  

… 

You were tired.  

You had just gotten back from a three day long hunting trip - three whole days out in the woods, killing small game while tracking a deer in order to shoot it and haul it home. 

For a while now, home had been a town called Alexandria. 

Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘home’. 

Alexandria was a great place to live, sure - but to you, home was a certain redneck bowman who often stank of cigarettes and dirt and had to be reminded to wash his hands before eating a meal. Home was the gentle grunt he gave you in response to a variety of questions, the scratch of his beard on your skin as he kissed you. 

You couldn’t think about him for too long - because you would get homesick. 

Since the prison had fallen, since you had escaped nothing more than debris and a crowd of Walkers - you had been moving from place to place, drifting. A lot of the time, you used the skills that Daryl had taught you during your time together in order to survive. 

When you found Alexandria, it felt like a dream. 

At first, you questioned why a shiny gee-golly boy in a blue rain jacket was trying so hard to ‘recruit’ you. You had to feel naturally suspicious of him and his stack of polaroids. But then you remembered what Daryl had said about bringing people back to the prison - bringing new people in wasn’t just about pity. There was strength in numbers. It became very clear to you very quickly that Alexandria needed fighters - they were bringing people as a tactic. 

You leaned into it. You proved to them what a good asset you were. You doubled down on using everything that Daryl had taught you in order to earn your place in the closed off community. 

You hunted and brought back game for the people there to eat, you used the skills Daryl had taught you to maintain the cars for runs and even fix-up ones that had been previously out of commission. You were widely liked by the members of the community, and Deanna often called on you for advice about dealing with Walkers. You had been on a few runs with their crews, but you preferred to stay close to town, to keep an eye on things. 

The hunt you had recently taken - three long days out in the woods. That had been for you. Something you had learned with Daryl was that hunting could be intensely peaceful. Maybe it was because it was time you spent with him - time when the two of you didn’t need words, just soaked in each other’s presence. Maybe you missed that too dearly. But you needed it to be just you and the trees, the focus on the craft that he had taught you. 

No closed-off bottle town politics. No smiling and nodding and pretending to care when the others complained about asinine things like the water from their showers going cold too quickly. Complained about being bored. To you, boredom was a blessing these days. 

No men sniffing around you, firing off increasingly poor attempts at flirting, believing that you were single even though you couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was difficult to explain to anyone in town that your heart belonged to someone that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Someone that you didn’t have the room to believe was dead. 

So after spending a few days in the woods, enjoying the peace alone, and bagging a deer and a few rabbits in the process, you came home. And currently you were in the shower, cleaning up - it was a blessing to even have a shower, to have perfectly functioning running water. A three day hunt could create a hell of a stink. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood from where you had cleaned the deer, and the general dirt you had gathered on your skin from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

When you got out of the shower, you felt wonderfully refreshed. You were still bone tired, and part of you did want to rush home and crash right into bed. But you had other things to do first. You had to check-in with Deanna, and go by the school before you could even think about going to bed. 

Olivia - ever kind and thinking ahead - had set out a change of clothes for you. She had seen you run upstairs to the bathroom covered up to your elbows in blood after you had asked her to stash the deer meat in the pantry’s freezer. 

You got dressed, and then went down to the pantry looking to make sure that she had taken the deer meat out of the plastic container that you had stored it in and put it into some plastic freezer bags to store it properly. She was squeamish around blood or raw meat - she had thrown up the one time that you had tried to teach her how to gut a rabbit, but you were hoping to wean her off those fears. 

Olivia was a nice girl. You knew that eventually, she would need to get her hands dirty in order to survive. It was a miracle that she had gone this long without doing so. When she told you that she still carried around a cellphone in her pocket - one that had long been dead and useless - you got stuck somewhere between paralytic shock and maniacal laughter. 

But it was just a mark of how untouched Alexandria was. How much they needed someone like you. 

“Olivia?” You called out gently when you hit the bottom stair. 

“In here!” She called back. She was in the armory rather than in the pantry - likely counting bullets to redo her inventory in order to avoid touching the bloody deer meat. 

You rolled your eyes at the thought of it and walked into the room, which was lined floor to ceiling with guns, the entire town’s supply. You were also casually pushing back against Deanna’s rule that nobody should be allowed to carry within town, but she had yet to truly hear you out on it. Your eyes fell upon a large cart that Olivia had parked in the middle, one that wasn’t usually there. It was filled to the brim with a variety of weapons. 

“What’s this?” You asked. 

“A new group came in yesterday, while you were gone.” She informed you, staring at the notebook she had in her hands - the one containing her inventory. “Deanna wanted me to make a list of their weapons. Well - the weapons they surrendered. I wouldn’t doubt if one of them is still hiding a knife in their shoe or something. They seem uber shifty and paranoid.” 

She said this with a dreary chuckle - the kind of nervous laughter that told you she was feeling weary of these people. 

A strange feeling came over you. A haze - tingling, from your head to your toes. A feeling almost as if you were about to faint - while at the same time, intense adrenaline was pumping through your whole body. You took a more careful look at the weapons gathered on the cart. 

A sword. One with the distinctive white leather sheath. A gun that you easily recognized as a Colt Python. A military knife with a knuckle guard… and perched right on top - a crossbow. The sight of which almost made your heart stop. 

“Maybe you could help me with this?” Olivia asked, motioning her pen toward the cart. “You know I don’t know the names of guns and stuff.” 

Clearly, she was trying to get out of bagging the deer meat - but that dropped off your priority list as you tried harder and harder to keep your hopes from swallowing you alive. 

“Sure.” You replied, knowing that it sounded terribly strained in your throat - joy and tears battling terribly inside of you. 

You gathered your breath, and forced your concrete legs to move. You stepped toward the cart, and timidly stroked a finger across one of the bolts that was strapped to the top of the crossbow. 

After a moment, you finally gathered the courage to ask the question. 

“So - can you tell me more about the group?” You asked, your throat clenching around the words, so damn dry all of a sudden. “Did you happen to catch any of their names?” 

“Come on,” Olivia sighed. “You know I’m no good with names.” 

Of course. 

The one time when you needed her to be paying attention, she hadn’t been. Where the hell was Aaron when you needed him? 

You could have been wrong. This could be nothing. It could be a coincidence. 

You wouldn’t let yourself get your hopes up - not until you knew. 

“Well - what were they like?” You asked. 

Olivia picked up one of the guns, inspecting it before she wrote down something in her notebook. It took her a moment too long to answer. You became dizzy with agitation, unconsciously holding your breath while you waited for something. Some proof. Something. 

“They were… strange.” She shrugged. “They reminded me of you when you first came here. But… you can tell they’ve been outside for longer.” 

That didn’t answer your question. So you moved on to another one. 

“How many of them was there?” You asked. 

“Maybe a dozen, I guess.” She answered easily. “It’s the biggest group Deanna has ever allowed in. I don’t know why, though. Aaron seems to really like them, but I didn’t get to talk to him much before he went home.” 

She wrote down something else, and then she continued - seemingly not noticing the way you were staring at her with an intense glare, hanging on her every word. 

You needed to know. 

“There was kids with them. A baby, and a young boy. A teenager, maybe? He was wearing this brown cowboy hat, that looked like a sheriff’s hat, kind of? I guess he got it off some cop.” 

‘My dad says that I get to wear the hat because I’m in the club.’ Carl’s small voice excitedly announced to you, pushing the too-big hat up over his eyes as it sagged down from how fast he had run toward you. 

‘What club?’ You countered curiously. 

‘People who have been shot and survived.’ 

‘Woah… okay. You probably shouldn’t go around saying that to people.’ You chuckled in return, trying to play off the casual morbidity. Knowing that ‘and survived’ was the important part. ‘Cool hat, though, kid.’ 

‘Thanks!’ 

As the memory from Hershel’s farm played over again in your mind - you remained frozen. Your voice was caught in your throat, seized by tears and shock - but all you could do was stand there as Olivia continued talking. 

“And their leader is this really grumpy guy. He kept… staring at me. His eyes were so cold… it was almost creepy. I could hardly see his face past his beard.” 

‘And, uh, I got this for you.’ Michonne chuckled, extending her arm out toward Rick, trying her hardest to gift him the electric shaver. ‘Your face is losing the war.’ 

The words evoked another memory from you - Michonne making jokes about Rick’s beard being overgrown, trying to get him to trim it down. Now, you couldn’t picture him without one when you tried to remember him. 

“Here, take this.” Olivia picked up the crossbow and put it in your hands. “Can you help me with the rest of these guns? I don’t know how to unload them. I need to take inventory of the ammo.” 

Your eyes were fixated on the crossbow in your hands - you ran your thumb over it. 

You had almost forgotten about it. 

Trying so hard to push down the memories, to forget - it had almost slipped your mind. The marking you had left on Daryl’s crossbow that made it so uniquely yours. The blessing of good luck you had marked him with when you had sent him to look for Sophia. 

The cardinal sticker that you had put on his bow. It was faded now, but it sure as hell was the one you had put there. 

In the back of your mind, you could still hear Daryl’s snarky voice snarling about how he didn’t need luck - but it had gotten him this far, hadn’t it? 

All at once, your nervous system shook, your body prickling up fiercely with goosebumps as the realization truly hit you. 

Daryl was here. 

Daryl was right here in Alexandria. 

He was alive. He was within arm’s reach. 

He was home. 

“Daryl.” You mumbled quietly, your voice still choking on it - it was a name you hadn’t spoken in so long. 

“What?” Olivia asked, turning around to look at you, clearly confused. 

“Daryl.” You spoke it louder. 

You looked to the door, and before you could take a moment to explain or even put down the bow - your legs were carrying you with a great urgency. 

He was close by - you were going to find him. 

“Daryl!” 

You screamed out this time, your voice echoing through the streets of Alexandria. Random people going about their day stared at you, but you didn’t care. You continued sprinting down the street, looking for that familiar face that you knew had to be close by. 

“Daryl! Rick! Michonne!” 

You screamed out the names of the people you knew would be with thim, and then your mind became fixated on him - on seeing his face again, on hearing him call you an asshole with a smile. Fueled only by joy, you pushed past your previous tiredness, determined to find him. Your cheeks began to hurt before you knew you were smiling and your legs pumped harder as you ran. 

“Daryl! Daryl!” 

You weren’t even sure where you were going, but you knew he would come to you - he would be there soon. 

You ended up at one of the last houses on the lot, rounding the corner when you finally spotted him. 

It was something you had pictured in your mind a thousand times. 

One of the quaint porches of Alexandria - so clean, so white, so picturesque - finally dirtied up by his presence. Olivia made you gut your kills in the back because she didn’t want it to disturb people, but Daryl didn’t know the rules, or just didn’t care. His hands were already covered in the blood of the possum that he was skinning - careful, meticulous, doing it right. His gaze focused downward in pure concentration - much like he had been on the day you had first properly spoken to him. 

Dressed in all black and still dirtied from the road - he was a sight for sore eyes. 

And he caused you to pull in a sharp, shattered breath as you began to cry outright now. Hot tears of relief, joy, love streaming down your face as you laid eyes on him for the first time in so long. 

His head snapped up at the sound of it, and his eyes widened beyond the splintering bangs that hung beyond his brows - hair longer than the last time you had seen him. His hands froze their movements, still hanging onto the half-skinned possum. You gripped tightly onto the crossbow, holding onto it tightly like an anchor, drifting at sea. 

You knew that look - his jaw gaped, his eyes swimming with intense emotion - shock, most of all. He was frozen. 

He was looking at you as though you were a ghost. 

In Daryl’s eyes, you might as well be. 

The last time he had seen you - you were dead. Or dying. 

It was all the same to him. 

He genuinely couldn’t believe that you were standing right there in front of him - alive, clean, beautiful as ever, holding his crossbow. It was like a dream. 

“I think I have something that belongs to you.” 

Hearing your voice again - it was oddly startlingly. You motioned toward the crossbow - his crossbow, that you were holding for some reason. 

His entire body was filled with concrete - he was frozen. 

“Daryl, is that possum so much more interesting than me, or are you gonna come on over here and give me a damn hug?” 

Yes.

That was what finally got him up - he tossed the possum aside because it would never be more important than you, and he rushed off the porch, rushing toward you. You dropped his crossbow in the grass and when he pounced on you, his arms encircling you for the first time in such a long time - you finally felt like you were home. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing way, and you squeezed him right back - feeling a strange kind of comfort from the smell of sweat and dirt and cigarette smoke coming off him. 

It was so Daryl. It was so real. 

You heard gentle sobs in your ear and you realized that he was crying too, so overwhelmed by the emotions of seeing you again and not too proud to hide his tears now. You didn’t notice and didn’t care that he was getting blood all over your clean shirt, gripping you so tightly with his possum-skinning hands. It was just another assurance that all of this was real and not another stupid daydream. 

“Goddammit.” He croaked out, his face shoved so tightly in the crook of your neck, soaking your skin with his tears. “I thought - I thought I lost you.” 

Pressed so close to his chest, you saw the yellowing corner of the paper sticking out of his breast pocket. You couldn’t help but to raise your fingers to fish it out of his pocket. 

“Why would you ever think that?” You sniffled weakly in return. “You had this for good luck.” You teased him lightly, pulling away slightly to wave the folded piece of paper in front of his face - both of you knowing exactly what it was. 

He let out a weak laugh in response. 

“You’re still a damn fool.” 

That was all he managed to reply before he put both hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. It was unlike any other time he had kissed you before. This wasn’t chaste - it wasn’t a simple kiss signifying that he cared about you, that he was trying, but affection simply wasn’t his thing. 

This was gravity. 

This was passion, this was love. This was this kiss of a man who had nearly ended himself because he had realized in horror that his entire world had hinged on you. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to waste a single second treading around feelings, hung up on simple things like the fear of affection. This was a kiss from someone who needed to show you that you were his whole world, and now that he had you back, he would move mountains just to see you smile. 

It was a kiss that easily had you moaning into his mouth, made you dizzier than you already were, stole breath from your already weak lungs. 

He held you tight to his lips and he poured every single ounce of emotion into that kiss - telling you how sorry he was for all the time he had wasted, telling you how much he had missed you, and most importantly - telling you how much he loved you. 

“Daryl, please tell me that you’ve showered by-” 

The stunning moment was sorely interrupted by another voice, one you distinctly recognized as Carol. She opened the front door behind you and stuck her head out, ready to scold Daryl - but she promptly cut off her own words when she saw you. You pulled away from his lips at the sound of her voice and whipped around toward her, and instantly a smile cracked your face, broad and unbroken. 

She was staring at you with utter shock. 

“Carol.” You said her name warmly, greeting her as an old friend. 

You couldn’t help it - you jumped forward and embraced her in a hug. It was only then that she loosened from the shock and let her own arms fall around you, hugging you back, and she was able to speak again. 

“Y/N.” She said your name quietly in return. “What - what are you doing here?” 

“Um… returning Daryl’s crossbow.” You chuckled, motioning to the bow that you had dropped with numb arms before you had ascended the steps, rushing toward him. “But you know… I think I have something for you too.” 

Naturally, Carol looked confused - and you chose to show her what you meant rather than to explain. 

… 

You brought Carol and Daryl to a house in the complex that functioned as the school. They didn’t know that yet - and you asked them to wait outside as you rushed inside and boisterously disrupted the beginning of the afternoon class. 

The teacher began telling you off, but you didn’t care. 

Daryl and Carol were theorizing about what you were doing, half ready to go in after you when you stepped out the door with someone in tow. 

“What’s so important? We’re supposed to start reading King Lear today and I can’t miss-” 

Both of them looked up at the mousy voice and instantly recognized the streak of sandy blonde hair - a bit lighter now from exposure to the sun, topped on someone a bit taller than they remembered. 

“Sophia?” Carol gaped. 

A daughter she had said goodbye to in her mind, someone that she couldn’t keep hoping was alive. Somehow once again, standing right there in front of her, fully alive and well. Once again - all thanks to you. 

“Mom?” 

Sophia broke out of your grasp and ran from the door into her mother’s arms, and Carol quickly embraced the girl who was almost as tall as her now. Carol was unable to hold back her tears and you knew that it was a swelling of perfect emotion as they hugged each other so tightly. Daryl petted a gentle hand over Sophia’s hair as he looked at you fondly. 

You couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. 

Carol used a hand behind Sophia’s back to wipe some of her own tears from her cheeks, still not letting the girl go as she looked at you with a wet smile forming tightly across her face. 

“I should have known she’d be with you.” Carol choked out - her way of thanking you for taking care of her daughter. Clearly scolding herself for not keeping the faith alive that Sophia would be okay. 

“We’re BFFs.” You said, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course we’re gonna stick together.” 

… 

You thought back to the day you had first taken on the title of Sophia’s BFF. 

The two of you had been close since the group at the quarry had first formed. It was unfortunate, but Ed reminded you of your own father, and you found yourself gravitating toward Sophia because of that. A natural instinct kicking in that made you want to take care of her because you understood what she was going through. You knew that Carol had to take care of herself, had to keep her own head above water, and she said that she was always appreciative of your help. 

You knew that Sophia appreciated having you around, being treated with gentle caring and a certain kind of maturity that she needed from an older sibling that she didn’t have. You didn’t always treat her like a child - you talked to her like a person who needed to be listened to, who had her own feelings that needed to be heard. 

Especially after Ed’s death - when she was feeling conflicted about the partial relief of being freed from her father’s abuse but oddly missing him at that same time. You were more than happy to listen to her and give her honest advice. 

When she fled into the woods off the highway that day, Daryl had to physically hold you back to keep you from running into the tail end of the herd yourself. It would have been stupid for you to blindly run after her, especially considering that, at that point, you didn’t carry a knife or any other weapons on you regularly. You would have been running after Sophia with nothing but your bare hands and your best intentions. 

It would have ended up with you both dead, and in the end, you thanked Daryl for holding you back. 

Which was why you trusted Daryl greatly to find her. You trusted his skills and his abilities, and especially his judgment. And you silently cursed Andrea for almost shooting his head off and putting him out of commission in that search. Especially considering the fact that Shane and even Rick were clearly losing hope in ever finding Sophia alive, and it was clear that they were ready to call off any search efforts. They were ready to abandon the Greene farm and leave her out there to die. 

So after Daryl’s wounds had been treated, when he was resting in his tent, you decided that it was high time to get the search back on. Of course, you had to wait for Andrea to leave, after she had apologized to him and left him with one of Dale’s crappy books as entertainment - something you knew wouldn’t help him much, because he was far too much of a hands-on busy body to sit around and read. 

But you didn’t dwell too much on thinking about that. Instead, you stepped into the tent next without being invited, determined to get his advice so that you could pick up the search for Sophia where he had left off. 

Daryl’s eyes snapped open where he had been lightly dozing off and he glared at you - it wasn’t malice or true anger, instead, simply light annoyance. 

“Can’t get five minutes of damn peace ‘round here.” He grumbled out as you invited yourself fully into the tent and without speaking a word to him, came right in and sat down on the edge of his cot. 

He instinctively scooted away from you. He could have said that it was because you had aggravated soreness in his injured side where he was still stitched up. But truthfully, it was because he wasn’t used to having you (or anyone) this close. Though he also couldn’t deny that the simple warmth of your body - the gentle heat of your ass pressed up against his thigh from you having to sit so close on the small cot - it was nice. 

But he couldn’t think too much about that right now. 

You obviously weren’t as caught up on the simple act of closeness. You weren’t as mindful of being this close to another person. You were someone who thought nothing of hugs and other simple forms of affection - something that you did regularly with people you considered friends, like Glenn and Lori and Dale. 

Instead of thinking at all about how close you were sitting to Daryl, you dropped your bag at your feet and began rooting around inside of it, looking for something. A moment later, you pulled out a map, which you held in one hand and shoved tightly in Daryl’s face. 

“Show me where you found Sophia’s doll.” You ordered stiffly. 

Daryl grunted at you, chewing on one of his nails for a moment before he replied. 

“What good is that gon do?” He asked. 

You didn’t know how to track or follow a trail. You weren’t the outdoors type. If he sent you off looking for her, he’d probably have to go off into the woods looking for you next. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. 

“Maggie is saddling one of the horses for me right now.” You explained. “You know that Shane has already given up, and Rick is about to.” 

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the quiver of potential tears. 

Daryl knew it wasn’t the kind of grief that everyone else held when talking about Sophia - you weren’t afraid that she was already dead and you would be combing the woods looking for a Walker to put down. You weren’t looking for closure. You were more terrified at the aspect of Shane and Rick giving up when someone you viewed as a little sister was still out there. You were afraid that she might be abandoned when she was still alive and had a chance to be rescued. 

“You’re not goin’ out there by yourself.” Daryl declared firmly. 

Predictably, he then tried to sit up - as if he would somehow accompany you in his severely injured state. But he didn’t make it very far off the cot before he let out a sharp wince of pain. Something he tried his hardest to conceal out of an ingrained toughness, so you knew that his pain had to be a lot worse than he was leading on. He fell back down instinctively and gripped a hand to his side, taking in sharp breaths as he tried to ignore the pain. 

“Well, you’re not going with me.” You griped sarcastically, motioning toward his injury. 

“Screw you.” Daryl replied, tossing up a middle finger - frustrated by his circumstances more than anything else. 

“Look, I’m gonna go whether you tell me where to pick up the trail or not.” You announced, firm and finite in your conviction. 

Of course. Stubborn. 

Daryl glared at you again. 

“And I’m not gonna drag your ass around with me,” You added on. “I just wanna know where you would search because before you got hurt, you were the best man for the job.” 

Daryl wanted to hate the snide, back-handed compliment - he wanted to hate your stubbornness and your inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. But he knew that you were going to keep to your word. You were going to do this with or without his help, and his help would be invaluable to someone like you. 

So, for some stupid reason, he folded to your will. 

(It would become a pattern so utterly predictable throughout your relationship. You were so direct and so stubborn that you learned how to play him like a fiddle.) 

“Gimme that damn map.” He grumbled out, finally folding to your infallible will. 

“Here, I have a pen. You can mark it down for me.” You announced brightly, giving him a chirpy smile as you got your own way. 

You reached back down to your bag, looking for the aforementioned pen, and Daryl bit his tongue. The fact that you even needed a marking on the map to remember what he was going to point out to you was a huge red flag for him - a sign of just how naive you were when it came to the woods, tracking, finding someone lost out there. 

He was already mentally preparing himself to go looking for you later. (He just hoped that this would be a good thing - that even if you got lost yourself, you would take some supplies to Sophia and help her survive a bit longer until he could get both of you back home.) 

He took the red pen that you handed to him and stiffly held the map, trying to ignore the gentle waft of floral soap coming off you as you leaned more into his personal space. More and more into his personal space, clearly trying to better pay attention to what he was showing you as he pointed to the landmarks on the piece of paper. 

“Found the doll down ‘round here.” He said, marking a small red X on the map. “I figured that she mighta dropped it when she was crossing the creek up somewhere here, and it washed downstream.” 

“Oh, okay.” You said. “So you think she’s on this side of the water?” You asked, pointing to a heading of your own. 

“Prolly.” Daryl nodded. “She gotta be close by the water cause it’s her only real landmark. You better stay close by the creek, got it? I don’t need to go in those damn woods lookin’ for your ass too if ya get lost.” 

“I’m not gonna get lost.” You sighed, snatching the map from him. 

“Make sure you don’t spend the whole time on the horse.” 

He added on, determined to give you good advice if you were determined to go out there. In the back of his mind, he was surprised that you knew how to ride a horse, but he didn’t bother to bring it up. Instead, he continued speaking about the topic at hand. 

“She’s little. It means she could be hidin’ somewhere down low. Caves, ditches, even down in the bushes. She could be passed out somewhere from the heat and you might not see her if you’re perched up high on that damn horse the whole time.” 

You nodded, soaking up all the information, determined to take advice from someone you knew was better versed in things like this than you were. 

“Anything else?” 

Daryl looked thoughtful for a moment. 

Then he reached off to the side for his own bag, holding in another pained wince as he stretched out his injured flesh. He batted away your hands as you went to help him, and his hands came back with a large knife - his hunting knife, sheathed in the cover that he often wore on his belt. You had never seen him without it, and you were surprised when he extended it out toward you - clearly wanting you to take the knife, even if only temporarily. 

“Daryl, that’s yours, I can’t-” 

“Shut up and take it.” He growled quietly. “This is gonna be better to you out there than any gun. And not just cause you’re a piss poor shot.” 

You rolled your eyes at the paper thin insult, but still hesitated to reach for the knife. 

“The woods are damn quiet, and if you run into a Walker, you gon need somethin’ quiet to take ‘em down.” He explained. And then, with a fair amount of cheek, he added on: “Come on. It’s for good luck.” 

You let out a sharp nasal sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, and then you reached out and grabbed the knife, tucking the holster onto your belt. 

“Maybe I don’t need luck.” You stated, getting up and making your way toward the mouth of the tent. “If I run into a bunch of Walkers, I could just make a necklace out of ears. That would be very fashionable.” 

You winked at Daryl, and he flipped you off - though you knew he didn’t mean anything harsh by it, seeing as it was paired with a small smile that he was unable to hold back at your comment. 

“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath. 

“I heard that!” 

(For some reason, this made him smile harder.) 

… 

Despite what Daryl believed, you were comfortable in the woods. 

You had spent a lot of your childhood camping - he likely would have called it ‘glamping’ (if he knew what that word was). Your family spent a lot of weekends in an RV, driving off to remote areas to go fishing or so that your father could go hunting. You spent a lot of time off in some cabin deep in the woods with no TV reception, playing around in the trees with a stick, making mud pies for fun. 

You knew the reason that you seemed so naive in Daryl’s eyes was because you spent all those childhood experiences very hands-off. Your father was a wicked control freak of a man who never let you touch anything, despite how many times you voiced wanting to learn. 

He insisted that your family have ‘happy’ family outings - he insisted that you get your ass in the boat while he was fishing, he insisted that you eat the game that he shot while out hunting, he insisted that you get out in nature because it was what he had done as a child. But he would never let you touch a fishing rod, he would never let you hold a gun to hunt or set a snare. He always told you it was because you were ‘too stupid’ and you would inevitably mess things up. 

So before Daryl had started teaching you the basics, you didn’t know how to read a map, you didn’t know how to start a fire, and you had been learning how to fix vehicles only because of Dale. Your mother was the one who insisted that you learn how to ride a horse because it was something she had learned during her childhood. (It had spawned a wicked argument between your parents that you didn’t want to think about.) 

But nonetheless, you felt comfortable by yourself in the quiet of the woods. It was a quiet you had come to enjoy throughout your childhood. 

It was why your ears immediately picked up on something - a particular noise - standing out from that quiet. The gentle thrashing of cicadas, the quiet bustle of leaves in the breeze, but then, something else. Crying. Distinctly - the sound of someone crying. 

You hopped off the horse that Maggie had given you and tied the saddle to a nearby tree, taking Daryl’s advice to get off and having a look on foot. 

And sure enough - you soon came to a small cliff, at the base of which there was a small rocky indenture that could have been considered a small cave. It was something that you might have passed by when perched so high on the horse. 

When you crouched down and got even lower on your hands and knees- 

“Sophia?” 

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had been riding for less than an hour, and fuck - there she was. 

She was curled up with her back to you, likely crying out of upset from being separated from her mother for so long, being scared and alone. Even covered in dirt - you recognized that blue tee shirt that she had been wearing when she had run off. And it’s not like there would be some other little girl hiding out in these woods. 

“Sophia.” You called her name a little firmer, in case she hadn’t heard you, or she was fatigued from the whole ordeal and needed a little extra jolt to awaken her attention toward you. It was then that her head turned and she gazed at you with two large teary eyes. 

“Y/N?” She hiccuped sorrowfully. “Wh-where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom is waiting for you,” You grinned at her, extending your arms out to invite her toward you - and she began crawling out to meet you. “Everybody set up camp at a farm just off the highway so we could look for you.” 

“I thought you were gonna leave me.” She sobbed, sitting upright and jumping into your arms - you couldn’t help but embrace her in a tight hug. 

Relief flooded your system, and though you knew that she was scared, hungry, and definitely dehydrated by now, you couldn’t be happier to have her in your arms - alive. To know that Carol would feel the same relief in such a short time. 

“Nobody was gonna leave you.” You assured her. 

You hated that it was a partial lie. But of course you weren’t going to tell her about Shane’s pessimism and Rick’s liability to fall for the ramblings of his best friend. They would all feel foolish when you rode back with her on the horse. And you would be happy to prove them wrong. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“Are you hurt?” You asked, pulling away from the hug to inspect her. A secondary terror spiked your system. If she had been bitten - you didn’t know that you would be up to the task of ‘doing what needed to be done’ as Daryl had put it. 

“My ankle.” She said, motioning to her foot. Upon further examination, it was swollen so tightly that it looked more than painful, cartoonishly bulged over the edge of her shoe. The sight of it made you wince. “I fell down.” 

“Okay, well - one of the people at the farm is a doctor. So he’ll be able to fix you right up.” You smiled at her. “But you didn’t get scratched or - you didn’t get touched by any of the Walkers?” You asked, wanting to be sure. 

“I hid from them.” She assured you. “I was running away, and - and I got lost, and I couldn’t find my way back, and that’s when it got dark, and-” She broke into more sobs, and you reached out to hug her again. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take you to your mom now.” 

“Look out!” Sophia screamed this in your ear suddenly, pointing a finger to something behind your back. 

Your heart thumped in your chest, panicked, and then, with an instinct you didn’t even know you had, you reached to the handle of the knife - Daryl’s knife on your belt. You pushed Sophia away, whipping around in order to jab the knife toward the danger. 

The first time you hit the Walker somewhere in the middle of its torso, and the second time you locked onto two disgusting yellow eyes - and you jabbed the knife right between them. Within seconds, all the movement in the Walker went limp, and it fell to the ground - and you let out a huff (not even fully knowing that you had been holding your breath) as you pulled the bloody knife out of its skull. 

“I got it.” You said, feeling victorious as you looked over your shoulder toward Sophia - who was shell-shocked and very tearful once again. “Let’s just… get on the horse and go back to the house, okay?” 

“There’s a horse?” 

You gave Sophia your canteen and she drank the entirety of the water during the ride back, and by the time the sun was setting, you were emerging from the trees with her sitting on the front of the saddle. 

On top of the RV, Dale and Andrea were having a dispute about who was supposed to be on watch. One especially heated after the debacle of Andrea accidentally shooting Daryl in the head. 

“Just give me - give me those! Give me those!” Andrea snapped, taking the binoculars from Dale. 

The man acquiesced to her fierce will, and he nodded, putting his hands up in surrender as he walked toward the edge of the RV to descend the ladder. 

Andrea put the binoculars to her face and looked out upon the fields, and what she saw shocked her more than the bloodied Daryl that she had mistaken as a lone Walker. 

“Oh my god.” Andrea gasped. 

“What?” Dale whipped back around, obviously thinking that something was wrong. “What? What?!” 

Andrea took down the binoculars and turned to Dale with a look of pure shock. 

“It’s Sophia.” 

… 

A short time later, everyone was gathered in the living room, an odd air of dread and tension having fallen over the group. It seemed that nobody else shared your joyous relief, as they were all anxious to hear it from Hershel’s mouth that Sophia was going to be fine. It was a case of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. 

It wasn’t long before Hershel came out of the downstairs bedroom to grace everyone with the news. 

“How’s she doin’?” Lori asked, practically trampling the man before he even had a chance to close the door behind himself. “Is she gonna be okay?” 

“Well - the girl is quite dehydrated after the adventure she’s been on,” He said, pressing that word, using it quite liberally. “But - after some IV fluids and rest, I don’t see any reason why she won’t make a full recovery.” 

Lori burst into tears. The previously silent room became a muddle of relieved sighs, delighted chatter, and more tears - and the joy you had somehow been suppressing exploded inside of you tenfold. As you looked around at everyone hugging and celebrating, you realized that there was just one person missing from the scene. 

The man who had made it possible to find her in the first place. 

You knew that Daryl should be resting because of his injuries - but what he should be doing, and what he usually did weren’t two things that often coincided. You wandered out the front door while everyone was distracted by the exchange of hugs and the general relief of the whole situation, and you weren’t surprised to find Daryl sitting in front of his tent, poking at a low-flamed fire with a long stick. 

You were slightly surprised to see him sitting up - but if you weren’t mistaken, his shirt was licked with blood on the side where his stitches would be underneath. So he was aggravating the wound and simply ignoring the consequences. Very predictable for him. 

“Hey.” You greeted him casually as you walked up. 

He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the flames, and after a quiet moment, he quietly spoke. 

“She okay?” He croaked out - his typical meditative speech. No more words than he needed. You liked that about him. 

“She’s great.” You answered. “You were right. She’s gonna eat a good meal and sleep in a warm bed tonight, and she’s gonna wake up next to her mother. She is gonna be more than fine.” 

If you weren’t mistaken, the small flinch at the side of his mouth - something that could have been taken for a tic in his cheek muscle - it was a genuine smile at the idea of Sophia actually being okay. A smile at something actually turning out well for the group. 

“And it’s all thanks to you.” You added on, taking the opportunity to give him genuine praise where it was due.  

Daryl shook his head. “Nah.” 

“Come on.” You sighed, crossing your arms. “You pointed to a place on the map, I went there, I found her. That’s all you.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just lucky.” 

You knew he was being snarky, but you couldn’t help leaning into it. 

“I am.” You grinned at him. 

He sighed harshly, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to argue, not wanting to ruin the general air of happiness at Sophia coming home alive. 

“But the knife did help.” You had to admit it - he had been right about forcing you to take it. You took it off your belt and extended it out back toward him, and he hesitated for a moment, perhaps wanting you to keep it for your own protection - and then he took it back. 

“Told ya it would.” He grumbled quietly. 

Before you could form some clever reply, you heard the front door of the house open once again, and you were surprised when Carol came marching toward you. You thought for certain that she would be attached to Sophia’s side after such an ordeal, but soon enough, she was sweeping you into a tearful hug. 

“Thank you.” She wept into your shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much. You found my daughter - you brought her home.” 

“Oh. I…” You weren’t really sure how to respond. “It wasn’t all me. Daryl told me where to look. He was the one who followed the trail.” 

Again - you had to give him the credit where it was due. 

“Of course.” Carol nodded, pulling away from squeezing you and moving toward Daryl. 

He jumped up from his camping chair so fast that he knocked it over, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to escape her thankful affection. A tense silence fell over the three of you as he gripped at his side, and he stared her down with wide eyes like a deer caught in a hunter’s cross-hairs. 

“I got stitches.” He mumbled out, clearly looking for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be hugged in the same way. 

“Okay.” Carol replied meekly. “I still want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for my daughter.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Welcome.” 

…

Even if Daryl didn’t know it then, helping to bring Sophia home truly cemented his place in the group. If it wasn’t a truth in everyone’s eyes, it was you whispering it to them, hammering home the fact that he was more than worthy - not as some kind of politician, but because you truly believed in him. 

And while you spent time rooting for him, he became an iron clad wall behind you. He continued teaching you every single skill he could, imparting all of his knowledge. And while you had insisted on returning his knife to him, he realized that a bothersome nuisance was that you didn’t have a good knife of your own. 

And he needed to make sure that you got one. 

Things were always subtle with him. He never went out of his way to make it seem like he was intentionally being nice to you or giving you a gift. He always made it seem like it was a coincidence - a side effect of whatever else was happening at the time. If the two of you went hunting together, he was teaching you because it was practical, because he had to. 

If he picked a flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear, it was because he claimed you smelled bad and it would dampen ‘the stank comin’ off you’ - not because it was meant to be any kind of affectionate gesture. If he made sure that you got a little bit extra on your plate that night, it was because he didn’t like the particular kind of game he had picked up, or because he was giving you ‘the worst parts’. Not because he was trying to make sure that you ate more in order to stay healthy and keep from going hungry. 

So when he gifted you a hunting knife of your own, it was entirely by mistake, of course. 

You didn’t know that he had been on the lookout for one with the intention of giving it to you for weeks. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself, and to be able to gut and skin your own kills properly now that you were learning to hunt. And in order to do that, you needed a good knife of your own. 

It just so happened that he found the perfect one while the two of you were out on a formula run for Little Asskicker. The kid was only a few days old and had lungs like a professional opera singer, wailing loud enough to shake the prison walls every few hours, and she was going through enough formula to fill up a mac truck. At least, that’s what it seemed like. 

The stuff that Maggie and Daryl had gotten just after she had been born had only lasted about a week. So now, you were out with Daryl once again, raiding a small rest stop that the two of you had seen nearby while out on a hunt. 

So far, the trip had been pretty successful. 

After struggling to get through the heavily padlocked and gated front door, Daryl boosted you through a higher up back window - which left you impressed by his strength and slightly afraid to fall on the other side (and then grossed out by the state of the bathroom that you ended up in). You got the gate up from the inside and found the keys to the padlocks on the dead owner (sitting in his office chair with a bullet in his head beside a very typical scrawl on the wall about hopelessness that you tried to ignore). And soon, Daryl unlocked the chains and then the two of you were in. 

Turns out that the security had been a deterrent for other people, and the place was relatively untouched. The two of you made off like bandits. Medicine, bandages, canned food, bottled water, juice, and of course - plenty of baby formula. Daryl even found a spare car battery that would work for one of the vehicles, and a half full can of gas. 

You were celebrating your haul with a handful of jellybeans each, smiling to each other, when Daryl noticed something. The molding corpse of the owner, now nothing but dried out skin husking against the bones with tattered old clothes rotting on top - had a very nice leather knife holster on his belt. 

Some things really do withstand the test of time. 

He necked down the rest of his candy, and as he chewed, he stepped into the office and you cringed as he reached for the dead man. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. 

“Thas a nice knife.” He mumbled in return, causing an awful crunching sound as he peeled the holster off the corpse. 

You had to admire him - where everyone else saw decay, he saw possibilities. 

He took the knife out of the holster and admired it for a moment, and sure enough - it was a damn nice bowie knife. It would need to be sharpened, but things like this last a lifetime. It would be perfect for you. He took out his bandana and wiped it off a bit, getting off any of the decay or dead skin that the previous owner had gotten on it, and then, he turned to you. 

“Here.” He said, holding it out to you. “You need one.” 

You did have a knife on you - a small pocket knife that Maggie had lent you for the trip out. Though you knew it was a nice gesture in Daryl’s mind, you were slightly hesitant to take something that had come off a corpse. 

“No, I don’t-” You huffed, trying to deny it. 

Next, Daryl did something that entirely shocked you, causing any protests to easily die off in your throat. 

He stepped forward, crowding into your personal space with his tall, looming presence - hot, sweaty skin lurking on every inch of him, warm breath that lingered partially with cigarettes and the sugar he had just consumed becoming absolutely apparent under your nose. And then, he lifted up the edge of your shirt, causing sharp tingles all through your body when his knuckles brushed across the bare skin of your hip as he forcefully slatted the holster onto the edge of your pants. 

His eyes were sharply locked on your hip, refusing to look at you, busying himself with securing it and then straightening the fabric of your shirt behind it so that you would have easy access to it in case you needed it. But your gaze was hard locked on the side of his face, only inches from yours. And you knew that he could feel how thick the air had gotten between the two of you. That he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp you had let out the second his skin had brushed against yours. 

“Daryl-” You said his name quietly, a whispered prayer, and before you could wander any further into dangerous territory, he easily cut you off. 

“There.” He grunted out, stepping back, breaking off the tedious moment. “Now you got one.” 

Before things could swim any further into that murky territory, he moved back to the bags the two of you had packed full of supplies, forcefully busying himself with taking them out to secure onto his bike. 

That moment left you thinking about his hands for hours after, days after - and you still thought about that moment occasionally when you used the knife. 

Strangely enough, you didn’t work up the courage to kiss him for the first time until much later, still lingering with the belief that he might reject you, even after that heated moment. 

…

It wasn’t long before news got around to the rest of the group that you and Sophia were in Alexandria, alive and well. You were greeted with many tight hugs, excited chattering, and you were introduced to the new people who had helped the group along the way and seemed to have cemented themselves into the family now. 

Quickly the idea came about that everyone should gather for a big family dinner - much like the one that was held to celebrate Sophia coming out of the woods alive and well. 

Even though it was something that had peeved you earlier, ultimately you were glad that Olivia hadn’t put the deer meat in the freezer, because it meant that you were able to treat everyone to something fresh. On top of that, when you had first arrived in Alexandria, Aiden had gifted you a few bottles of wine with some cheeky line about ‘sharing’ them with you whenever you wanted, and they had been gathering dust in a cabinet somewhere - so you could think of no better occasion to open them. Soon, you were all sitting in the living room of the house that Rick and company had been sleeping in - sleeping bags and blankets cleaned up in favor of a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs thrown together to make a long dining table that would fit the entire group. 

Surrounding the table was the whole group - Rick, Michonne, and Carl who was holding sweet little Judith on his knee (someone you had been so excited to see again). Beth and her new friend Noah (who were not-so-subtly holding hands underneath the table). Maggie and Glenn (who had hugged you so tight upon seeing you and refused to let go for nearly a full minute), their new friends Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Sasha, Bob (who looked happier than ever somehow) and Tyreese. 

And to round out the table, Carol sitting close by to Sophia with an arm wrapped lovingly around her daughter. Daryl was sitting next to you with a hand so shamelessly on your thigh - something that he never would have done before that you absolutely loved. As you looked around, all you saw was family - even in the people you didn’t fully know yet. You knew from Glenn and Beth’s words that the new people were nothing but good - and that was more than good enough for you. 

Radiating through you was nothing but pure joy. You truly didn’t know how things could get any better than this. 

“Well, I would like to propose a toast to our host,” Abraham said, rising up out of his seat and raising the plastic cup that he had filled with wine toward you. 

“Technically, Rick is our host,” You reminded him, nodding toward the man who looked so odd when he was clean shaven. It felt so strange to see his naked face. 

“Hey, this has only been my house for a day.” Rick replied with a shrug. “You can take full credit for giving us the best damn welcome wagon ever. This is a pretty fine spread you managed to put together on such short notice.” 

“Well, in my book, anybody who brings such good grub and such prime booze is the host,” Abraham argued lightly, giving a grin. “Plus, you were crawling around in the woods and shot down this buck so we could eat it. That deserves a thanks.” 

“Well, you’re welcome.” You shrugged in return. 

Everyone else raised their glasses in a slightly disorganized chorus of ‘thanks’, and Abraham accepted this and sat back down. You felt almost too humble and too embarrassed to accept it. You didn’t think that providing food for your family was all too big of a deal. 

“Dude, I’m just happy to be eating something that’s not from a can.” Tara added on with a grin. 

“I’m just happy that we’re all together again,” Bob replied with a smile. 

“Cheesy.” Sasha scolded him lovingly, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, I’m not the only one deserving of thanks.” You shrugged, feeling a need to deflect some of that embarrassment. “Daryl taught me how to hunt.” You explained, giving him a pat on the thigh to affirm the credit in his direction. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold a knife properly if it wasn’t for him.” 

Carol smirked. “That’s always your story, isn’t it?” She mocked you gently. “‘Daryl showed me the map.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to build a fire without matches.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to hotwire a car.’” She said, performing a mocking imitation of your voice. 

Sophia let out a gentle laugh at this, having heard this plenty of times from you while on the road together. 

This time, you could see Daryl shrinking back into his seat slightly with embarrassment, his eyes purposefully fixated on his empty plate instead of looking at anybody else around the table. 

“Well, it’s true.” You replied. 

… 

You thought back to a time shortly after you and Sophia had escaped the prison alive. You had tried looking for the others, and found nothing but the stalled prison bus, surrounded by corpses. The two of you were tired, broken down, starving - luckily, you and Daryl kept some hunting supplies outside the fence for when the two of you went hunting, including the spare crossbow that he had fixed up to teach you with. 

So you had managed to snag a few squirrels and gut them just as night fell, and you started a fire with the flint and steel with minimal difficulty as he had taught you. 

“Daryl taught you all this stuff, huh?” Sophia wondered aloud as she watched you put the flayed squirrels, now skewered onto sticks, over the fire to be cooked. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed gently. “I’m certainly glad he did.” 

You didn’t let yourself wonder where Daryl was, if he was okay. You couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be easily taken down by Walkers, not with how you had seen him handle himself. Anybody could be blown apart by a thousand pound tank or smashed by falling concrete, even if they were as skilled and vigilant as him. 

But you refused to let yourself think about it. You refused to worry about going back to pick over ashes just to have some confirmation - because there wouldn’t be any. You had to believe he was alive, or not even think about him at all. 

You had to take care of Sophia. 

A rattle in the leaves behind you caught your attention, and you grabbed your crossbow without any hesitation. You whipped around and pointed it toward the source of the sound, and soon found yourself staring down a random man. He didn’t hesitate to walk closer to your makeshift campsite, clearly unafraid of you even with your weapon raised. 

He was obviously someone who had been outside a long time - his clothes dirty and tattered, his teeth rotting as he gave you a filthy smile. 

“What do we have here? Hmm?” He greeted you in an oddly calm way - perhaps his attempt at mocking kindness. 

A general sense of unease caused all of your hair to stand on end. 

“Sophia,” You called her name gently, getting her attention, and in a moment, she was at your back, standing behind you while you stayed guarded. 

“Y/N-” She said your name quietly, grasping at the back of your shirt. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her, keeping the man locked in your sights as he came to fully stand in the light of the fire that you had made. 

“Oh, it is okay.” The man chuckled. “I assure you that I don’t mean any harm.” 

He gave another filthy smile - not just dirty by the color of his teeth, but something deeply unsettling that made your stomach twist with disgust. 

“I’m only looking for a kind person to share the night with. Perhaps I can share the warmth of your fire, and we can make friends.” 

He peered around you then, and eyed Sophia heavily with a look that made you all too certain your next move. 

You pulled the trigger on your bow and shot him, the arrow landing perfectly in the hollow of his neck - he sputtered on his own blood for a moment, and then fell to the ground. You felt regretful that Sophia had to witness it, but you knew that sadly, during her time at the prison, she had seen similar or even worse things. 

Once you were sure that he was dead, you walked over to his corpse and pulled out the arrow, and stabbed him in the temple with it to make sure that he stayed down. And then, almost hearing Daryl’s voice in your ear telling you what to do next, you began looking over his corpse for anything useful. His backpack held a few cans of food, and the knife on his belt wasn’t too bad. You gave it to Sophia and reminded her to tuck her shirt behind it as her mother had instructed. 

After you dragged the body far enough away so that it wouldn’t be an eyesore, the two of you enjoyed some canned spinach alongside the squirrels for dinner. 

…

“He knows a lot of very practical stuff and I’m lucky that he’s taught me so much.” You added on, not even realizing how much praise dripped through your voice as you spoke about Daryl. “It’s a huge reason that me and Sophia survived out there for so long. I was able to get us food and fix vehicles for us to get along because of what Daryl taught me. Back at the beginning of all this, I would have been so helpless and… probably dead if I had gotten stranded out there by myself.” 

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, thoughtfully fixed on the side of your face, and he gently squeezed your thigh. It warmed him to the core to know that he had given you a gift - that he had kept you and Sophia alive with the proxy of his knowledge and skills, even if he couldn’t be there to protect you and provide for you himself. In a way, he had kept you fed and safe all that time. 

It was so sweet that you felt a devilish temptation curling up in you. 

“And you know, him being cute is just a bonus.” You added on with a grin - knowing that it would tickle him with embarrassment that you had loudly, affectionately announced this in front of the group. 

And it worked. 

“Aw, shove it.” Daryl scoffed, reaching up to shove your shoulder. 

But you didn’t get very far away, didn’t get to fall off your chair completely before he took the hand off your thigh and wrapped that arm around your neck, pulling you close and smothering your cheek in a few beard-scratchy kisses, making you cringe and smile all at the same time. 

This was a brand new, openly affectionate side of Daryl that you had never seen before. He had missed you for so long and he certainly wasn’t wasting making up for lost time. 

Fuck, you really loved him. 

“You know, Dixon, I never woulda guessed that you off all people would be saddled up.” Andraham commented. 

“Yeah, you never mentioned Y/N before,” Rosita added on, clearly curious as to why Daryl had never mentioned you. 

Beth gave Daryl a very knowing look as he reached for his glass of wine and finished it off, and Daryl felt lucky when someone else spoke up before he could. 

“We all saw it coming. Him getting ‘saddled up’, that is.” Michonne added on with a smile. “Carl owes me a Baby Ruth, though.” 

“The over-under was two years,” Carl hissed quietly in reply. 

Rick glared at them, and any further discussion about this bet was silenced. 

“You never told us how you got out.” Glenn piped up, suddenly curious about this. “The prison was utter chaos, if I had known that someone else was alive in A-Block, I would have-” 

“It’s not your fault.” You pressed. “It’s actually a really crazy story.” 

“Well please - do tell.” Sasha said. 

… 

Chaos. Noise. 

Being woken from the deepest unconsciousness of your life, still coughing up ugly yellow mucus and nearly having large chunks of the concrete ceiling fall on top of you due to an apparent explosion - definitely not one of your best days. Your vision was a clumpy haze due to the sickness you were still battling and you had to forcefully, bloodily rip out the IV that Hershel had put in you in order to try and navigate through it all. You climbed over the fallen bits of the building, stumbling around with a dizzy, weak body to climb down what was left of the stairs and partially falling down to the ground floor. 

“He - hell - o?!” Your efforts to call out for help were damped by coughing and the general chaos around you - the sounds of more explosions and a hail of gunfire that you could barely form panic over because your head was pounding and you still felt so fucking ill. 

You needed to find Daryl. You needed to find somebody. 

The prison bus. That was the plan if things ever went wrong. 

You moved toward the exit and found that the main hallway was blocked by more debris, but a splintering path that you knew led toward the library wasn’t. Even in your hazy state, you remembered the fact that Carol had a very large trunk in the library filled with emergency supplies. Water, dry rations, and knives that she had been teaching the kids with. Even if you couldn’t get to the bus, you could get those supplies and get out on foot. The others would likely be camping somewhere along the highway when the bus eventually ran out of gas, so you could catch up to them - eventually. 

It was the best plan you could come up with on such short notice, so you stumbled your way toward the library, and as soon as you opened the door - another explosion rocked the building, causing one of the tall, unsecured bookshelves to come tumbling down on top of you. You ended up flat on your back with the large shelf crushing you, leaving you as perfect bait for Walkers that were likely being lured by all that noise outside. 

Though you were already weak from illness, you did try to move your arms - and you found out that only one of them wasn’t completely pinned down by the shelf. It was a completely futile effort to try and lift the thing off yourself. Between the weight on top of your lungs and the way the illness had weakened your system - you soon passed out. 

When you drifted back into consciousness, the noise had greatly lessened. There was the faint growling of Walkers - cordoned off unintentionally in some other area of the prison - but there were no more explosions, and no more gun fire. 

The first thing that caught your eye was something bright red. You focused your eyes to focus, and you quickly realized that it was a picture of a red cardinal. A hand-drawn sketch on the front of a book titled ‘Birds of North America’ that was on one of the other shelves. It was tipped perfectly into the line of your vision, as if meant for you to see. 

Before you could futilely try to lift the shelf off yourself again, you heard a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” 

You quickly recognized who it was. 

“So-Sophia?” You called back, barking out another cough that strained your words. Luckily, she heard you. 

You were soon greeted by the sight of her legs rushing toward you. Though you had no clue how such a waifish girl would ever be able to lift the bookcase off you, you were at least relieved that you were no longer alone. 

“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to speak to you. 

“Stupid thing fell on me.” You wheezed quietly. “I came in here looking for your mom’s stash. I’m guessing you had the same idea?” 

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Can you get this thing off you?” 

“Yeah. I was just having a leisurely lie down underneath a bookshelf.” 

Sophia rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. 

“Guess I’ll just leave you here then.” She remarked, battling back with her own sarcasm, clearly having no intentions of doing so. 

“Well you might have to… I have no clue how you’re gonna lift this thing off me.” You admitted quietly, hating how defeated you sounded. 

“I think I have an idea.” 

You were curious what she meant, and you couldn’t quite see what she was doing as she stepped out of your eyeline and made some noise, shuffling around to grab something. Then she came back with a long wooden beam - a shelf she had broken off of one of the other fallen bookcases. She stacked up a few of the books, making a hinging point, and then stuck the beam underneath the bookcase and somehow - using all her bodyweight, she was able to push it off you for long enough for you to crawl out from underneath it. 

“Thanks, kid.” You smiled at her as you sucked in greedy breaths. 

“Glenn taught me that.” She smiled back. “He said it’s basic physics.” 

“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him.” You said. 

… 

Sitting at the dinner table, you then turned to Glenn. 

“That reminds me,” You said. “Thanks for that.” 

Glenn chuckled. “Happy to help.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve just one question,” Rick piped up. “Why did you have a stash of weapons in the library, Carol?” 

Carol took a long sip of wine, pointedly avoiding the question. 

“Oh shit, he never found out about storytime, did he?” Carl chuckled, obviously directing this question toward Carol. 

“Storytime?” Rick echoed, eyeing his son heavily, clearly confused. 

You cut them off, not wanting to get Carol in trouble for her proactive teaching a bit too late. 

“Okay, let’s all just be happy that we’re together and that we’ve had a nice meal.” You said. “I’m not doing dishes. You guys have fun with that. Come on, Daryl, I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” You made your exit, getting up from the table and hoping he would follow - which he did, making way to push out his chair. 

“Is it your bare ass?” Abraham joked, clearly at least a bit drunk. 

“Abraham!” Rosita chastised him with a gentle smack. 

“What? I think it’s cute that Dixon’s all shacked up.” He replied with a chuckle. 

“You’re lucky he doesn’t punch your lights out for that one.” Tara remarked. 

“Nah, you’re safer with Y/N around.” Maggie commented. “He gets all soft when he’s around Y/N. It is cute.” 

“Oh, if you think this is cute just wait til I tell you about what they were like back at the prison.” Michonne added on. “He used to bring Y/N dead squirrels like a cat dropping dead mice at someone’s doorstep. I have no clue how such an odd form of flirting actually worked.” 

“Well, some people like dead squirrels, some people like toothpaste.” Rick replied. 

And that was the last of the conversation you heard before you closed the front door behind you, going off down the street with Daryl in tow to show him your place. 

When you took him up the porch of another manicured house and opened the door, he quietly croaked out: 

“This ‘ur place?” 

“Yeah.” 

You told him, shoving your boots off, not wanting to get dirt on the clean rugs inside. Daryl felt a bit strange taking his shoes off - knowing that his overly worn socks had holes in them, but still, he followed suit. He knew you wouldn’t judge him for something as petty as his socks having holes in them, after all. 

“This is where me and Sophia have been living. But there’s always room for one more. If you’re done snuggling up next to Rick on the living room floor,” You couldn’t let another opportune joke escape you, and Daryl rolled his eyes. 

“Asshole.” He gently scoffed. 

Though the two of you had never slept in the same bed together before. And he couldn’t help but to love the idea of being curled up next to you at night. He found that he also loved the idea of waking up next to you every morning - especially after going for so long without seeing your face. You walked up the stairs and he couldn’t help but to follow you, and he was surprised when you didn’t lead him to bed - but instead, went to the back of a hallway, and pulled down a latch. 

This unleashed some stairs that led to the attic, leading the two of you up even higher. He found himself shamelessly admiring the view of your ass as he followed you up the stairs, and when he emerged into the dark attic (only lit by a few strokes of moonlight coming in through the small window) - he was surprised by what he saw. He had to crouch down on his hands and knees to be comfortable, and he quickly adjusted to sit down on his ass as you had. 

It appeared that you had built a watchtower of sorts up here. 

There was a telescope set up in the small window, and off to one side, there was a cork board with a hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a few notebooks sitting in the corner that you likely wrote down observances in. Posted on the cork board - there were names of all the residences in town, and you had written down certain traits beside each of them. Along with a hand drawn map of the town itself and names on the houses, indicating where everyone lived. 

“So you’re gettin’ paranoid?” Daryl joked. 

“No.” You scoffed. “Besides, you should know that a healthy level of paranoia is necessary these days.” 

It was in that moment that it truly hit Daryl - you had taught him to be hopeful, even if he hadn’t fully known it at the time. And he had taught you to be less naive, to be firmer in order to survive. The two of you were only alive, only able to have the privilege of being in each other’s presence now because you had accepted those pieces of the other person that kept you alive. 

“Ain’t that right.” He replied. “Why did you wanna show me?” 

You shrugged. “I thought you might like it.” 

Daryl couldn’t hold back his grin - one of the most genuine smiles you had ever seen come from him. He did like it. He liked that he had made a little fighter out of you. But at the same time, nothing had snubbed out the perfect spark that he had fallen in love with. Your smile, your laughter, the brightness in your eyes - somehow, it was all still the same. It made him love you even more somehow. 

“I guess I also wanted to thank you.” You added on. “I meant what I said before. You taught me so much - I would have been clueless without you. I would have starved to death and been blind, and lost and stupid without everything that you taught me.” You declared passionately. “You kept me fed and sheltered and warm, and I don’t know how much I could thank you for that.” 

Daryl began to get choked up, and he hated that for the second time that day, more tears swelled in his eyes. 

He knew that in a different way, you had kept him fed, sheltered, and warm too. You had kept his soul from dying out in those woods - you had kept his spirit fed on the idea of hope that he never would have conceived as something real before he had met you.

He couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. So instead, he found himself reaching out toward you. He put a firm hand under your jaw and guided you toward him; you easily fell limp to the touch and let yourself be guided toward his mouth once again. 

This was much less of a surprise than the earlier kiss. This was much warmer, like sinking into the hot shower had been earlier that day. Only this was much, much better. You let out a gentle moan as you let yourself feel it, simply enjoying the tingling sensation throughout your body, gripping into the lapels of his vest, crawling forward to sit in his lap as your mouth embraced his. 

After a moment, you pulled away. There was only one thing on your mind, one incomplete thread that you had been thinking about since you had lost him at the prison. 

“I love you too.” 

Daryl grunted in reply and pulled your mouth back to his. 

For once in his life, he didn’t feel like a fool for letting himself hope. 

That night, Daryl went to sleep in your bed. 

For the first time in far too long, he got to wake up knowing that you were alive and well - he had the privilege of being greeted by the sound of your even, calm breaths. You slept on his chest long after he awoke, and he let you. He was greedy and starved for your touch, soaking in the feeling of your warmth half on top of him, nosing over the top of your head to enjoy your natural scent mixed lightly with the smell of soap. 

As the sun rose over the walls of Alexandria, Daryl noticed a streak of red flash by and land on the roof of a house beside yours. Through the window, he saw it there perfectly - the red cardinal that you had gifted him with for luck, the symbol that had guided him all the way here, all the way back to you.  

He couldn’t help it, then - he grinned to himself. 

The next day, he found one of those picture frames that Aaron had gifted the group with that they largely had no use for, and he put your picture of the bird, still singed on one edge, inside of it. 

A while later, when the two of you were out on a run and he had a bit of time on his hands as you fell asleep - he edged a stick n poke tattoo into the skin of his forearm, outlining the bird as best he could with his very little artistic talent. When you saw it, you giggled - and he assured you that it was because he liked the look of it, most definitely not for luck. 

He didn’t need ‘luck’ anymore - not when he had you.

...

A/N: This is a stand-alone oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. I have always intended for this to be a stand-alone story, so please do not ask for a follow up or a sequel in the comments. If you are going to comment, please comment about the material that has already been written. If you want to see more TWD fics from me, I have some posted on AO3 (which is linked in my pinned) but I don't currently have any of my other TWD fics posted on Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!