#dale horvath x reader

[book-place-incorrect-quotes]

Y/N: Between Rick, Daryl, Dale, and Shane, who would you punch?

Glenn: No one! They’re my friends, I wouldn’t punch any of them!

Y/N: Shane?

Glenn: Yeah, but I don’t know why

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Shame on a plate

Happy St. Patrick's Day, slowpokes!

When -- several minutes after Stuck in a damn bed. , after Shane blew up, and you found out that not only Dale, but Maggie saw, too.

What -- Sophia's still missing, Daryl and Carl have one more day in the house on bed rest, and you're dealing with the aftermath of your big brother Shane's actions in the previous chapter and the fact that others saw. The biggest thing you feel is shame.

Relationships -- Found family you and the gang! Lol, always a slow burn Daryl x Reader, there's also some platonic Glenn, brotherly Rick, and Maggie gets protective her new friend (you), and Papa Dale is there

Perspective -- 2nd You, 3rd Daryl

Pronouns -- none

TWs -- other than the hideous screenshot above, there's some language and discussion of abusive patterns and behaviors

How long is it? -- around 4,000 words

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

In this chapter, Reader is struggling with shame, guilt and confusion over how Shane treated them at the end of the previous chapter.

Remember, being hurt by a loved one is not okay. If they are hurting you, they are doing something bad to you. Abuse is not earned or deserved. You are worthy of being safe and unhurt.

For help getting safe, you can call the Domestic Violence Hotline (USA) at 800-799-7233, chat online, or text START to 88788.

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“No, nothin’ like it before, ever.”

Her fingers tap tap tapped against the book in her hands. “I don’t like it. Daddy’s been uncomfortable around him, then I see this happen.”

You twisted your mouth. “It was an argument between siblings.”

“If it was an argument, then why didn’t I see you arguin’ back?”

Stupid, stupid idiot. It kept playing in your head, that refrain. It had a different spin than it did at first. See, at first, your brain repeated it because you’d given yourself fault for what happened, how Shane just…you don’t know what happened. But he behaved very badly.

But then, the refrain kept repeating over and over because you didn’t walk away or fight back when Shane started hurti acting like he did.

You did nothing.

It was the one thing you were not supposed to do. The thing Shane and your Mama always warned you never to do when things got scary. The thing Shane had literally just gotten done practicing with you so that you’d know even more than you already know about how and when to fight back.

All that effort and still, you froze.

Stupid, stupid idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.

You had to clear your throat. “Beth didn’t see, too, right? Just you?” you hushed. The girl was already timid and uneasy about your group, If she saw what happened, it was the nail in the coffin if you couldn’t fix this.

“No, I was the only one by the window.”

“So he wasn’t too loud, then.” Which meant only Margaret and Dale knew. Your shoulders felt lighter.

“Y/N,” Maggie said to you. “You seem more concerned with others not seein’ what went on.”

“Well, yeah, I’m worried they’d overreact.”

She tilted her chin up and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, is that what I’m doing? Was my comin’ to check on you an overreaction?”

“No, no, not at all!” you quickly apologized. “Not at all! I’m, I’m happy you care enough.”

“You’re a good person and you’re my friend, which is why I don’t want to tiptoe around this. What your brother just did was bad. You know that was abusive, right?”

Maybe scoffing at her heartfelt, caring statement wasn’t your best idea, but 'abusive' was such a strong word…right? “He’s my brother, and it was a one-off, I done told you.”

“I’m not sure I believe it when you say that,” she next had the audacity to claim. “You haven’t even been makin’ eye contact with me.”

Oh, you want eye contact? I’ll give you eye contact, bitch.

Your inner tea kettle was shrieking to be taken off the burner, and you could not have cared less. “You callin’ me a liar? Calling my brother an abuser? Rich words from someone I’ve barely known two weeks!”

Before any more was said, Dale inserted himself into the conversation, the thing he said he wouldn’t do. “If you want to keep your conversation private, I suggest not raising your voices.”

Maggie’s arms were crossed. She stared hard at you, but spoke calmly. “Sometimes when things are unhealthy, those looking in from the outside can see it better. And I know what I saw.”

“A sibling fight,” you whispered as gently as you could, feeling so heated. “You, you, y-you saw a sibling fight, those can get nasty.” She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s not, she’s not.

“You know what? I don’t have time for your pushback if you don’t have time to consider what somebody who’s concerned about you says, Y/N.”

More shame was added to your plate.

Her leaving shouldn’t have felt so awful, but it did. You covered your eyes and exhaled, as if that would help get rid of the worst of it. You then told God how much you hated this, immediately followed by the opposite, as you cursed yourself a little more, why not? You stupid, stupid idiot.

Not only did you disappoint (and insult) your new friend, but you worried it was another strike against your group. Lori and Carl need this place, it’s safe, it’s good, it’s — you stupid, stupid idiot!

But just like that, Maggie then called your name again as Dale was stepping toward you. You turned to see her facing you once more, no longer walking away.

“If this was a dating situation, what would you think about how he behaved, what he did?” she challenged.

As unfair as you thought the comparison was, the answer hit you in the face. Pun not intended, shit, um… at any rate, having Dale close by helped to ease you into the checkmate that Margaret just finished you with.

You hated your answer.

Because if you saw Shane behaving toward a romantic partner the same way he just behaved with you, you know exactly what you’d think and how you’d react. It wouldn’t be a gray situation, it would be black and white.

More shame for the plate. More guilt. More unease, more dread.

Eyes to the grass, you swallowed your pride. “I’d see it the way you see it.”

Maggie shifted her weight from the right to left, then back again, uncertain. “Will you tell Rick?”

You hesitated, too. After all, you’re an adult. You could be married with children at your age, you couldn’t just—“Tattle that Shane…got huffy, lost his cool?”

“Don’t oversimplify, kiddo, you’re smarter than that,” Dale muttered. He and Shane don’t get on (zero idea why, since Dale and you get on so well!) so this is just more bad press against your brother and more shame for your plate.

“But it’s, it’s not that dramatic, none of this has to be dramatic,” you insisted.

Dale answered again. “Then talking to Rick about it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Rick’s family,” Maggie agreed. “So, he’s seems like the best person to help.”

A child in a grown-up’s body is what you felt like. Helpless, naïve, clueless. You stupid, stupid idiot.

They were right, though, Rick could fix this, he could talk to Shane, figure out what that was. And even better — agreeing with Maggie and Dale would get them off your back! For real, what were they doing, an intervention? Because Shaney poked you a little, gave you a little push?

The words felt sinful, but you said them anyway.“I-I’ll, um, I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to Rick.” And, of course, you were then obligated because you despise dishonesty.

Maggie nodded, then put her thumbs in her pockets. Dale nodded and looked at the two of you, then all around. It was very uncomfortable.

It would be nice if instead of real life, this was a TV show or book, you remember thinking. The audience isn’t usually shown the awkward parts in TV or books, would be a waste of time.

“Y/N,” Maggie spoke, breaking the silence. “We have a raspberry thicket by the south-facing property line.” She pointed in the direction. “Completely overgrown. I’m gonna go back in, finish what I was doin’, but let’s go pick some together later, okay? I’ll come find you in a little while?” She smiled hopefully at you, with some pity thrown in.

Returning the smile, you hoped it made you look put-together and self-aware and confident instead of the shameful, idiotic mess you felt like. “That sounds delicious.”

The moment ended, and she went back toward the house. You heard the door open and clack shut again. A desk onto which you could slam you head would be nice, you remembered thinking.

Instead of a desk, though, Dale put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

He sighed. “Alright, troublemaker. Walk with me? We don’t have to talk, let’s enjoy the sunset awhile.”

Not two steps later, and he apologized for his timing in using the nickname that one month ago he’d christened you with. “And Y/N? What Shane did isn’t your fault.”

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Him

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Today marks one week of being stuck in this bed. Day 7.

He’d failed, that’s it. A weak-ass pussy dipshit who’d failed, and was still stuck in a damned bed after a full week.

Tomorrow, Patricia said he’d be cleared to move out. Not that it mattered much, he still couldn’t do enough to be useful. Not that he wouldn’t; he couldn’t. He’d still be on bed rest.

But hey, at least he’d be able to walk to the woods to find a place to squat and shit by himself now, right? Not even too sarcastic, it would be a step up from feeling like a total invalid.

Carol and Lori were doing a special dinner and cleaning up for the family here to try and thank them for everything. Daryl would just…lay in his bed, he figured. Except, all three of those clucking hens that he wished would stop preening him, Patricia, Carol, and Y/N, kept offering to help him eat with everyone else like they was all some big, happy, family.

This time, it wasn’t that he couldn’t; he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to face them all, not yet, it was too much. He could only take a certain level of shame, and his plate was already full.

The saving grace this past week that stopped him from drowning in his shame was his not seeing the whole kit and kaboodle of them in one sitting. Rick had told him a little over a week ago how it was no problem if Daryl left. Just Daryl, he’s pretty sure nobody else got that little talk.

He’d chosen to stay because of Sophia and Y/N. Sophia needed finding. Still does.

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You

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Carl is the kind of kid who’s double-digits, yet understands when his mother needs her baby again. Lori had snuggled with him on the bed, and both were sound asleep. Not even you knocking on the door or the door being opened/shut woke them.

Which must be why last night, Rick took the opportunity to bring up what Shane did, right there in the room.

It was a blessing that you didn’t end up having to do the hardest part, bringing it up, you suppose. Shane himself had done it for you. All you had to do was fill in the blanks.

“Said he lost control, acted a certain way,” Rick murmured. “What’d that look like?”

You didn’t want to describe it, it’d sound bad… “Shane didn’t say?”

“I’m interested in what you say.”

“Ah, you want to maintain ‘eyewitness sequeskra — eesh, that’s hard to pronounce. Se-quest-ra-tion?”

Rick did that raised brow squint thing he makes when he’s teasing, as if maybe he was about to call you ‘weirdo.’ But then, his expression faded back to serious and he spoke your name. “We both know he hasn’t been himself. What did that look like today?”

Casually, you told him about the way Shane had gotten intimidating. “You know how he’d talk when he needed to do ‘bad cop,’ it was, it was kinda like that.”

“Anything physical?”

Casually, you mentioned the jabs. “He was pokin’, like, with his pointer finger — and he’s strong, so.”

“Right there?” Rick asked, pointing to his sternum in mimic of how you’d gestured.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a bruise?”

Your neck tightened.

Maggie had spotted it when you were berry picking. One had fallen down your shirt, so you’d pulled the fabric forward and down to retrieve it, and she (and you) saw the bruise forming. You stupid, stupid idiot.

It was fine, it wasn’t a big deal. Bruises happen.

Casually, you joked to Rick, “I get bruises from random shit all the time.”

He didn’t smile.

It actually lessened the shame, rather than adding more. You were grateful.

Continuing, he questioned, “He told me about that collarbone grab, and how he went like this?” And when he motioned with his hand, slowly pretending to clap it against the side of your head, you felt your cheeks heat.

“Once.” The insult he’d smacked you with at the same time hurt more, to be honest. Which…made it all click that what Shane did wasn’t as small a deal as you’d been thinking. Mouth shut, you licked your teeth and stared into space. “Did it to himself first, way more than once.”

Rick watched his wife and son sleeping on the bed and asked nothing more for a few minutes.

You picked at the string that stuck out of your arm wrap, feeling stupid, stupid, stupid, shameful, stupid. Per usual, then you missed your mom—and out of nowhere got swept by that flash flood of resentment toward Rick again.

Shane and you had left your mother alone to scope out the latest at the hospital, to figure out how to get Rick safely out without him decompensating. While you two were gone, what happened happened. Sometimes, you assign blame to Rick for it, as if comatose Rick was the reason your ma got killed. Sometimes, you assign her dying to Shane’s change in character, as if that made it better, gave it an excuse.

Grief gets sticky like that.

“Is that all, or is there any more?”

“He went like this,” you mumbled, and grabbed the neck of your shirt like Shane had. “That’s it, all the dirt. Happy?”

“Y/N.”

“…Sorry.”

“I know this wasn’t easy. Thank you,” he told you, putting his arm on your shoulder. You didn’t want it there, so you moved away. Rick was patient, not reacting a bit.

That was last night. This morning felt pretty normal when you woke up. Carol had shared your tent again. Shane was off in his, so you didn’t see him.

Coffee in hand, you were in in the middle of coaxing one of the pullets to waddle toward you by holding out dandelion leaves when Glenn came to see you. You’d figured he wanted to feed the baby chickens, too, or, even better, that there was good news about Maggie. (She likes him!, she told you herself the other day. She just isn’t telling, you know, Glenn himself just yet.)

“Y/N? How are you?”

“I’m warmed up good with my coffee, how about you? Sleep well?” You kept your smile in when you asked, “Talk to Maggie today?”

“Yeah, yeah, I slept fine, yeah, but, um—you’re like, okay, though?”

A flutter of dread. “Glenn, what’s up?”

“What did Shane do to you yesterday? I heard him—”

“—What did you hear, and from whom?” reverberated from the back of your throat as if it were a growl.

“Dude, chill. I’m trying to see if you’re okay.”

The way you tried to keep your voice calm ended up sounding snotty and insincere. Most likely because you were feeling very insincere. How many people saw or heard about what happened? Naked, you felt so naked and exposed! “Where. Did. You. Hear about it?”

“I heard your brother talking to Rick.”

The twist in your gut eased. “Okay, um, um — what did he, w-what, um, what did he, what did he say?” And how did you hear, do they know you heard?”

“I had the headphones in, but the battery died on your mp3 while I was going to the bathroom—”

“—Daryl has the mp3,” you thought aloud.

“He let T-Dog borrow it, who let me borrow it. I-I ate something that didn’t agree with me, so…”

Oh my ffing — “Did you sanitize it when you were done?”

“Dabbed it with hand sanitizer, yeah. Oh, also, Shane asked me to ask you if he could borrow it once it was charged again.” Glenn scratched his neck. “I told him it was on really low battery.”

You swallowed.“So he did see you?”

“He and Rick saw me with the earbuds on and I acted surprised to see them.Shane asked if he could borrow it, I told him it needed to be charged, um, hey, I can see it in your face that you’re worried, please don’t be! Shane believed me,” he assured you. “Trust me, he doesn’t know I heard him. I don’t lie, Y/N, you know that.”

“I do,” you admitted, nodding.

“Anyway, I was walking back from the woods and heard Shane and Rick talking. I figured it was about Sophia, but when I overheard something Shane said, I stopped and listened.” Glenn bent his head down and shuffled his feet. “He said that he messed up, like, snapped. Told Rick that he needed to talk to you and be on your side with whatever you told him. Y/N, he said that he,” your friend lowered to a whisper, “hurt you? Like literally ‘hurt’ you, like, did he hit you?”

You smiled to put him at ease, holding up your hands. “He poked me a little and clapped an ear, weren’t hardly no thing.” Y/N, you stupid, stupid, idiot.

It was probably good that he looked so disappointed and cautious, even if it didn’t feel good to see it in his eyes at the time. “Y/N, don’t…joke about this stuff,” he began. “Why would Shane would have gone to Rick in private if it wasn’t serious?”

“’Cause he’s a drama-king.” You made it sound almost like you were patronizing Glenn, the way you said it.

“No. No, this isn’t ‘no thing,’ you literally just confessed he did hit you — does Rick know about that, too? Shane mentioned something about a collarbone, grabbing your shirt, and shoving you, which is also not ‘no thing.’”

As he was speaking, you’d felt more and more defensive and naked and ashamed. You even had to beat down the urge you had to grab his shirt and shove him back, and prove it wasn’t a big deal!

Then, you considered how he’d take it. The look on his face, at a friend doing that to him. How you’d feel about yourself if you did that. How you’d feel if you saw somebody else do that to him or somebody else. A whole lot of rapid thoughts in the several moments where you figured out a way to respond.

The explanation you made was something you’d tried on everyone so far. “We’re siblings. Stuff like that is normal — did you never see your sisters go at it?”

“No, it’s not! And if it is, it shouldn’t be! Dude, if you saw me,” he countered, speaking louder than you’d heard him make since he cried that the bodies of those at the quarry camp weren’t going to be burned with the walkers. “Doing whatever Shane did with you to one of my younger sisters, what would you think of me? How would you react?”

Glenn’s strong emotional response wasn’t expected, so you stood there, dumb. And you knew exactly how you’d react if you saw him doing to his sisters what Shane did.

And yet, you’re still unsure if everyone else is overreacting because it sounded bad or because it actually was.

Either way, Glenn’s question raised your white flag for you. You surrendered, bowing you head in shame and covering your face with your free hand.

“Glenn, there are three other people who know. Four, if you count Shane.” With your injured arm still secured by the upper arm to your torso, you pointed at him. “Dale, Maggie, and Rick know. Which means already there are three others who know. Now, Glenn, don’t go spreadin’ this business any further, hear?”

You didn’t sound half as intimidating as the words may look, mostly you sounded defeated. Ashamed. “Talk to any one of them, talk to me, but do not breathe a word to, to anybody else or around anybody else.”

This is the part where you started to get a little weepy. “And Lori, she don’t need to know about this right now, she don’t need the stress, and not a word around my Carl, oh my gosh, not him.” This is the part where you got a little beg-gy. “Please. It, it ain’t a bad secret because those that need to know, know. Okay?”

The gavel was brought down when he said, “The way you’re scared of the others finding out makes it seem like a bad one.” He was right. Is right.

He then clasped his hands together. “Listen: I wasn’t about to tell anyone else, since Rick knows. Shane told him himself, dude, and I trust Rick. But, if it was a different case,” he went on, and shook his head as if he was telling you that all bets would be off. “Y/N, remember when Ed was around? How that felt? Dude, you literally threw yourself on him when you saw him hurt Carol.”

The comparison of your brother to Ed Peletier stung and wasn’t fair. And did Glenn forget what Shane did to Ed, to? “Glenn, that ain’t equivalent by any stretch.”

“Maybe not,” he accepted. “But just because it could be worse doesn’t make it not bad. Stuff like this starts small.”

“I know,” you whispered.

You raised the white flag higher, half with the plea that this would be over faster if you did. Lord above, you felt so small, stupid, and defenseless. “You’re right,” you ceded, your gaze reaching no higher than Glenn’s belly. “You’re right. And like you said, it’s, it’s b-bein’ handled, Rick’s got it.” Ugh, stress stutter. “And Shane did a much better job than me when he saw what Ed did, don’t leave out that part.”

“He did. That almost worries me more. Just — if anything like this happens again, or if it starts to feel the same, like — ” He raised his hands. “You’re my best friend. That means I’m on your team. Okay? Even if you end up hating me for it.” He then started to leave, give you some space. “We’re on the same search team today, too. Meet by the mailbox by 9:00, it’s in like 40 minutes.”

“Hey, wait,” you called, not wanting to look him in the eye yet but doing it anyway. And you forced the words out because they were true. “Th-thank you.”

He breathed out heavily and made an awkward (but real) smile.“I love you, dude.”

“I love you, too, man. You’re my best friend.”

The uncomfortable, clumsy encounter with Glenn left you feeling more ashamed than you already were. With Daryl, that day where you’d felt as if your very soul had been stripped bare, the vulnerability hadn’t felt shameful afterward. What you’d felt was so close, unbearably close, it was strange.

But yesterday evening and this morning, the vulnerability sucked, dude. And you’d been stuck in a cycle of shame, anger, and feeling stupid, but without those feelings going away once the truth let out.

The good thing was, the target of your anger began to change during the conversation with Glenn. You weren’t thinking stupid, stupid idiot about yourself anymore, no, it became directed at Shane. The one whose blowing up made this mess. Your view of the mess also became clearer. What happened wasn’t just one sibling bullying a little on the other and it getting out-of-hand it was…it wasn’t something to brush aside, you’ll say that. And you’re scared, you’ll say that, too.

But what you were supposed to do with all of it, that still wasn’t clear.

Still isn’t. Because sooner than later, Shane will know about the baby. Sooner rather than later, the situation with Sophia will end. Sooner rather than later, that little power struggle you’re seeing between him and Rick will come to a head.

Nope. You have no idea what to do and all you feel is shame about it.

Speaking of, Daryl’s been feeling ashamed, too, it’s kinda obvious when you look and talk to the guy. He thinks that because he’s bedbound, he’s useless. Might as well pop in before you go on the search this morning, you’ve got like 15 minutes until then.

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Him

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“Last day in this fine establishment, enjoy it while you can,” Y/N joked.

Yeah, so, he wasn’t in a joking mood and didn’t get why Y/N would be, either. An entire week in this ‘establishment’ was damned shameful. All because he stole (worse, Y/N had told him more than once not to do it) borrowed a horse that got spooked. A dumbass slip and fall. Twice.

If Sophia wasn’t found, it was on his hands.

“Did Carol convince you to come to dinner, yet? Or are you still feelin’ too poorly?”

“Just stop.” He wanted to be left alone, was that so fucking complicated?

And he wanted out of this fucking bed, out of this room, out of this house, off this shit farm, and away from this whole gaggle of dumb fucks.

He wanted Merle back. He wanted Uncle Jesse back.

…He just wanted Sophia back. He'd even prayed about it.

“Sorry, little man, not now. Yeah, nah, he needs some privacy and quiet,” Daryl then heard from out in the hallway.

The door was already closed. He didn’t even hear it shut.

“No, his head is still okay, Carl, his cognition is prolly better than the two of us put together. The man’s healin’ well, thanks be to God,” Y/N cheerfully chirped like a songbird. "Wanna visit the baby chicks again?"

More shame slithered on over, hissing at him for how he’d been a dick to Y/N, of all people.

Daryl tried to rub his chest to get rid of the tugging feeling in Y/N’s direction while trying to shut up the voice in his head that was screaming for a goddamn cigarette so he could smoke and dig the lit end into his skin.

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You

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So, that was a bust. Daryl kinda snapped at you. It sucked. Felt really awful, not gonna lie. First your brother, now the mangy hick.

Come to think of it, it's actually more on brand for Daryl to have done that, given you literally just referred to him as ‘mangy hick.’

Ugh, you wanna cry again. You wanna run back to Dale the way a little kid runs to their dad. Maybe this time you'd also run into a desk to slam your head against on the way?

Later would have to suffice for finding that desk, however, because now, there’s work to do.

“Aight, let’s roll. We’re headin’ south, looking around a small neighborhood. Tomorrow, Shane and Andrea will be hitting what we don’t cover,” T-Dog announces. “Ready to head out, y’all?”

“Head on back to your ma, okay?” you tell Carl, pecking a kiss on his head and patting your finger along the chick he's still carrying. Carl had walked you to the mailbox, it's his third and probably last ‘big trip’ of the day. He’s wearing Shane’s police baseball hat. “See you later, punk, I love you."

“Yeah, man, all set. Bye, Carl.” Glenn stands up from his crouched position by the mailbox where he was waiting.

You adjust the first aid kit in your backpack, then ease it on and snap the chest clip in place. “Ready, Teddy.”

T-Dog rubs his hands together. “Then let’s roll. See if we can’t bring Sophia back for this big dinner her mama’s got planned tonight.”

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[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Eighteen

"Oh, calm down, Dixon.” I pulled a shirt on and a pair of sweats. “There I'm fully clothed.” I pulled a pair of clean socks out of my duffle and sat on the couch. It's funny, I have a ton of underwear and socks but only have five shorts and three pairs of pants. My closet at my apartment is full of clothes, but I only grabbed a few things then practically shoved my whole sock and underwear drawer in my bag. I also only grabbed two regular bras and like five sports bras. Of course, at some point I will only end up with everything. “I'm going to check out that wreck room real quick, see if there are any good books.”

Daryl hummed and took a swig from the bottle in his hand. I stood up and started for the door. With my hand on the handle I paused. “Hey, Daryl?” I waited for a response, not turning around. I heard a grunt of acknowledgement. “I'm sorry.” I turned my head, making eye contact with him. A look of confusion washed over his face. He opened his mouth to say something but I walked out of the room before he could.

I walked down the hall, passing Lori, who had her head down and was walling fast. I caught sight of a couple tears running down her face when she lifted her head just a fraction. “Lori, are you alright?” I asked. She stopped in her tracks, straightened up, and whipped her cheeks. She had her back to me when she said, “yeah.” Turned around and gave me a weak smile. “It's just been a little overwhelming these past couple days with Rick coming back losing Jim and Amy, along with others. I'm grateful Jenner let us in here. We can be safe here.”

I noticed how she was a little shaky. Her hands and voice trembled and she looked distraught. I didn't say anything though and just nodded. “Yeah, hopefully this place is good.” I didn't want to say that we weren't going to be here long. That the clock in the great room was counting down. It was probably counting down to the end of this place. There was no way this building could keep going for long. It was designed to keep very dangerous diseases from getting out into the world. Disease that could be weaponized. They wouldn't let that happen even in an event like the one we're currently battling.

I said my good night's to Lori and headed to the wreck room. I was looking at the books when the door opened. “Lori?” I turned my head to see Shane standing by the door. “She went to bed,” I told him. He looked me up and down, leaned on the door and smirked. He was clearly very drunk and I was starting to wonder if he was the real reason behind Lori's tears. I wouldn't be afraid to bet he was, seeing as I started feeling very uneasy when he moved further into the room. I decided to ditch the books and just head back to the room. “Well, I'm going to bed,” I said, walking around the opposite side of the pool table from where Shane stood.

I didn't even make it to the door before he quickly moved to stand in front of me. “Wow. Wow. Hold on there. How about we get to know each other better.” I stepped back from him when he reached out his hand to touch me. “Yeah, I'd rather not. Now if you'll excuse me.” His hand caught my upper arm as I went to walk past him. “Come on now, don't be like that.” His grip tightened on my arm when I tried to pull away. “Let…go…of…me!” I yanked my arm free, stepped away from him moving closer to the door. “Don't ever put your hands on me or anyone else ever again. I won't hesitate to put you down.” When I got back to the room Daryl was passed out on the couch. I walked in quietly, locked the door behind me, and laid down, quickly falling asleep.

The next morning I woke up to an empty room. I groaned as I stretched my body out on the cot. I will admit that I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since this shit show happened. Staring up at the ceiling I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face then reluctantly sat up. I got dressed and headed to the dining area, where I found everyone else eating breakfast. T-dog handed me a plate with eggs, bacon and toast. I thanked him and sat down beside Glenn, who groaned and held his head In his hands. “I'm never drinking again,” he mumbled. I patted him on the back with a chuckle and took a bite of eggs. Five minutes later Rick walked in and Lori handed him a bottle of aspirin.

Shortly after that Shane walked in. I hadn't noticed last night but he had a scratch mark on his neck. Rick asked him about it and he gave the excuse of he must have done it in his sleep. He looked at Lori when he agreed with Rick that it wasn't like him to do that. This just confirmed what I had suspected last night; he was the cause of Lori's tears. Everyone ate their breakfast until Dale looked At Jenner and spoke. “Doctor, I don't mean to slam you with questions first thing…” he said. “But you will anyway.” Before Dale could ask anything Ansrea jumped in, “We didn't come here for the eggs.” He looked around at everyone, sighed, and told us to follow him.

We were led to the big room and the lights flickered on as we entered. “Give me playback of TS-19,” Jenner said, walking towards the large monitor in the wall. Vi, the virtual intelligence spoke up, “Playback of TS-19.” A few beeps sounded and the screen lit up. A scan of a person showed up on the screen and Jenner looked up at it. Everyone spread out and looked from him to the screen. “Few people ever got a chance to see this. Very few,” he said. “Is that a brain?” Carl asked in amazement. “An extraordinary one. Not that it matters in the end,” Jenner told him, mumbling the last part. “Take us in for E.I.V..”

Vi listened, saying, “Enhanced internal view.” Then she changed the screen. “What are those lights?” Lori asked. Jenner looked back at her for a second before giving his attention back to the screen. “It's a person's life... experiences, memories. It's everything. Somewhere in all that organic wiring, all those ripples of light, is you... the thing that makes you unique. And human.” Daryl scoffed, “You don't make sense ever.” I rolled my eyes and looked at him. “Those are synapses, electric impulses in the brain that carry all the messages. They determine everything a person says, does or thinks from the moment of birth to the moment of death,” Jenner continued.

“Death? That's what this is, a vigil?” Lori asked. “Yes. Or rather the playback of the vigil,” he clarified. “This person died? Who?” Andrea asked. Jenner looked at the monitor and was silent for a few seconds. “Test subject 19. Someone who was bitten and infected... And volunteered to have us record the process. Vi, scan forward to the first event.”

“Scanning to first event,” she said and a new image showed up. We watched as the lights slowly faded to black. “What is that?” I asked. “It invades the brain like meningitis. The adrenal glands hemorrhage, the brain goes into shutdown, then the major organs. Then death. Everything you ever were or ever will be... Gone,” he explained. “Is that what happened to Jim?” I heard Sophia ask Carol. “Yes.”

Andrea was looking at the screen and a few tears fell and Jenner looked at her with a little concern. “She lost somebody two days ago. Her sister,” Lori informed him. Jenner gave Andrea a soft look, “I lost somebody too. I know how devastating it is. Scan to the second event.”

“Scanning to second event,”Vi annoyed and switched to the sec9nded event. TS-19's brain lit up but not like before. “The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was eight hours. In the case of this patient, it was two hours, one minute... Seven seconds.” I looked fr9mt the screen to Jenner. He was talking like he knew this person. “It restarts the brain?” I asked.“No, just the brain stem. Basically, it gets them up and moving,” Jenner said. “But they're not alive?” Andrea asked.

“You tell me,” Jenner said, looking at her. She looked back at the screen, “It's nothing like before. Most of that brain is dark.” Jenner nodded and hummed. “Dark, lifeless, dead. The frontal lobe, the neocortex, the human part... That doesn't come back. The you part. Just a shell driven by mindless instinct.” Al of a sudden something went through the head of TS-19 “God. What was that?” Carol asked. “He shot his patient in the head. Didn't you?” Andrea asked.

Jenner didn't respond, instead he said, “Vi, power down the main screen and the workstations.” Vi shut the power down the main screen and workstations. “You have no idea what it is, do you?” Lori asked. “It could be microbial, viral, parasitic, - fungal,” he lis5ed pff. “Or the wrath of God?” Jacquie said. “There is that.”

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 25

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Author's Note.

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

"There you guys are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm just trying to—"

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

"But does that mean he has to die?"

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

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

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

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

"But can I tell you sum'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffs amusedly. "Yeah. Exactly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you, too, Dad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glances at me but decides not to say anything.

"Did you tell Maggie about the knife?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gunshot would attract the horde." Carl supposes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door swings open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The windows rattle behind me and Carl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get up." He seethes.

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

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

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

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

"Man, whatever!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. I did."

"How'd it go?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do something!" She begs.

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

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

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

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

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

We all know what has to happen.

He pulls the hammer back.

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

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

Dad steps up instead, raises his gun.

"Sorry, brother."

A bang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I catch myself.

Was, now.

Author's note.

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

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

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

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

Thank you for reading! :)

@poetoflawed

[lovergirl-78]

REDEMPTION

Rick Grimes x Dalia Thompson(oc)

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

AN:This is a test run. Seeing if you goes like this version if not just tell me please I would really like your feedback. Bare with me this is my first fanfic.

Warnings: mention of death, apocalypse,suicide, depression

659 words.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

The night was still; the beeping from the monitors and chittering from the people were still, yet Dalia seemed unmoved. Imagining what could be wrong with the world, her family and friends are all dead, while she remains untouched by the atrocities right outside the building. You see, Dalia often imagined that if she just opened that door and got eaten alive by the dead, just like her family, she would be free from the guilt of leaving them to die.

Dalia... DALIA!" a voice exclaimed, breaking Dalia from her zoned-out state.

Huh," Dalia responded.

"Did you not hear anything I just said?” Candace questioned.

"Is it about the cells?

"Honey, I know it’s hard right now, but you’ve got to understand that I’m here for you. Everyone lost something, and you staying alive is something your family would want.

Candace Jenner was a mother figure or a mentor figure for many, especially Dalia, who is fresh out of college. It’s been hard on everyone here at the CDC with the minimal scientists that remained. Some scientists decided to stay; some left to be with their families, while others decided to opt out of this nightmare. Dalia didn’t blame them; if she could, she would have too.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Vi, start recording!" Dalia yelled.

"Starting recording in three, two, and one," Vi replied.

"Well, here we go. Hi, my name is Dalia Thompson. I am currently twenty years old and a scientist at the CDC. Ummm.. I honestly don’t know why I did this, but Candace mentioned it’s good to keep a video diary to document or rant. Dalia sighed while taking a deep breath.

"It started on April tenth, two thousand and ten... I woke up with a crazy hangover from partying the night away with my friends Savannah and Mindy. I was tired as hell. I checked my phone, and I saw a barrage of messages from my parents angry about me missing Susie's seventh birthday. I really didn’t understand why they were so upset. There isn’t anything a seven-year-old and a twenty-year-old have in common. I digress. I worked at the CDC as a public health analyst, which is an entry-level job. When I entered work that day, Candace Jenner, who leads the CDC, reported about a strange virus that was found in France that changed people into empty, cannibalistic versions of themselves. We needed to research the effects immediately, but I guess it was too late.

It started small and manageable, and the government told us they had it under control. They sent out nationwide messages about the dangers of going outside and staying safe. Scientists and researchers were told to keep looking. Many hurried to leave to be with their families, and some decided to opt out. Since then, we've gotten rid of the bodies and placed ourselves in lockdown. No one can come in. Many came in hopes of food, shelter, and protection, but we couldn’t break protocol; we had to keep the doors shut. A family came by a couple days ago pleading for help, but we couldn't, and I watched as they got torn apart by the dead. Dalia takes a long pause. Her eyes tearing up and lips crumbling together at her meager attempt to hold in a cry.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Later that day,

Candace, Edwin Jenner, and I walked into the test room, which holds one of their dead colleagues. They needed a sample of the colleagues' DNA. Dalia offered to do it, but Candace said she would. They took an ample amount of safety precautions to prevent any way for them to get hit or scratched by the disgusting piece of sh*t.

Candace went in a full hazmat suit, looking like a marshmallow, which made Dalia laugh her ass off. But as Candace was turning away from collecting the DNA, all of a sudden it came back to life.

"WAIT!" Dalia screamed.

TBD..

[gracemyface]

Daryl: The Professional (Daryl Dixon x Young! Reader)

Chapter Six

Key:

Y/n - Your Name

Y/l/n - Your Last Name

Y/e/c - Your Eye Color

Y/h/c - Your Hair Color

Series Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: Things are unsettled at camp after the fight and Jim's breakdown, and the Reader finds themselves too worried about Daryl to really enjoy any of the festivities. Meanwhile, Daryl finds himself struggling in the city, wanting to return to camp but not wanting to face the wrath that would come from leaving Glenn behind. They're finally reunited when, in a turn for the worse, the camp is attacked by a wandering herd of walkers...

Warnings: Major Character Death, Canon Typical Violence/Gore, Some Angst.

A/n: I will have no real Lori slander. She did some shitty things, yes, but she loved her kids and the other women’s kids. Anyway, how do we like Daryl’s pov? I really, really struggled with it bc he’s such an asshole (I mean that affectionately.)

Shit really goes down this chapter. You guys have a slight breakdown, but it's been a long time coming. Character development ig?

also, do we want more stories from when the Reader, Daryl, and Merle were together?

Word Count: 4.8k

The first time Daryl ever saw you, the blood-soaked orphan with a far-off stare who’d barricaded themself into the corner of his father’s cabin, he felt a prickle of annoyance travel up his spine. 

He didn’t know why you were out in the woods, or what had happened to result in you being covered in the crimson liquid (though, if his father hadn’t just been eaten in front of him, he would’ve assumed it was a pig slaughtering gone awry), or how you got into the cabin. He, especially at that moment, hadn’t even cared. He knew immediately that Jess wouldn’t have left you behind, cursed his father’s half-brother and his bleeding heart, and reduced you to nothing in his mind but another mouth to feed — a weak, sniveling mouth at that. He wasn’t ever keen on being around kids, smart-mouthed teenagers even less, and he didn’t really want to have to handle the collapse of society with anybody who couldn’t fend for themselves. 

You showed him, though. You really did.

In those few days when it was just you and him after Jess took that fall off the truck when you officially became his responsibility, you proved you weren’t weak. You adapted to the end of the world quickly — learned to be quiet when you needed to be, to be useful most of the time, and to just eat whatever he managed to catch. And then you took on Merle in a way that nobody really dared to, most nights ending with you sending his older brother a heated gaze over the fire, the flames reflecting in your y/e/c eyes. Now, he still wouldn’t leave his life in your hands if he had the choice, even after you shot that man clear in the head back in Fontana and walked it off, but he knows for sure that he can trust you to handle your own — and, even if he doesn’t really appreciate being wrong, he can’t help but admire you for it… though, he’d never admit it aloud.

Standing in a long-abandoned lab building in an overrun Atlanta, the redneck stares down at the whimpering kid they picked up with pure disdain. His lips are curled back over his teeth in a sneer and his eyes are slanted as he stares down, internally picking apart every little thing the teenager does. That is what he expected from you.

What a shit show this little expedition-slash-rescue mission has turned out to be.

Not only was Merle not where they left him — currently down one hand and on the run through the sweltering pit of hell that has become of the once lively city — but now they’ve lost Glenn, too. If Daryl’d known that the younger man was going to get taken hostage by a bunch of wannabe gangsters and hold them up like this, he’d have left before these assholes could’ve even thought about getting into the truck with him.

He wanted to be the hell out of dodge three hours ago. “Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won’t protect your family or put food on the table— you’re gonna give that up for that kid?”

Both of them give him a stern look, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, the kid is nice and all, and half the camp (including you) would be really pissed off if they came back without him, but they can’t give up half of these guns. It’s either Glenn or a better chance at survival and he picks survival.

“If I knew we’d get Glenn back, I might agree. But, you think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?”

Daryl nods in agreement. There’s that, too. They have no idea for certain if giving up the guns will even get them what they want. It might just be a trap that gets them all killed.

“You calling G a liar?” Their hostage— Miguel, was it?— inserts himself into the equation.

His mind once again drifts to you. If you were kidnapped, you wouldn’t be this stupid. You’d be smart enough to not mouth off to the people who held you captive, smart enough to figure out how to get yourself free, and smart enough not to make promises on his behalf that he might not be able to keep. You’d be mute, sitting there and watching your captors with those dangerous little eyes of yours.

This kid, though? Christ.

“Are you a part of this?” He crosses the room and leans down over the kid, slapping him lightly. “You wanna hold onto your teeth?”

T-Dog continues on, ignoring the violence. “Question is, do you trust that man’s word?”

“No, question is what are you willing to bet on it? Could be more than them guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?” He holds Rick’s gaze.

Truth be told, Daryl doesn’t quite get risking why anybody would risk their life for someone who wasn’t their blood. Glenn wasn’t any of their brother, son, or cousin — he was just some (former) pizza running kid that was on the highway, in the right place and at the right time when Shane spearheaded the group and lead them off the highway. Merle is probably the only person in the world that the redneck would even think to sacrifice anything for.

(Except maybe…)

“What life I have I owe to him. I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't.” Rick loads his revolver and sticks it in his pocket. “Neither will I.”

Daryl scoffs in his soul. “So you’re gonna hand the guns over?”

“I didn't say that.”

The sheriff's voice has now taken a quality that has his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“There's nothing keeping you two here. You should get out, head back to camp.”

T-Dog winces from his injuries, rubbing his head with his hand. “And tell your family what?”

Daryl and Rick stare at each other for a beat, a silent conversation happening between them, before he sighs shortly and reaches for a weapon. You’d probably be really pissed at him if he didn’t try, and he doesn’t want to deal with an emotional teenager right about now.

“Come on, this is nuts.” The boy sits back down when Daryl holds a hand out to him. “Just do like G says.”

The redneck ignores the whining boy and starts loading a shotgun. He needs this to be over as quickly as possible, and he needs the gangster assholes to go down without a fight.

He made a promise to come back alive, after all.

──────────────────

Jim has a heatstroke. Or, at least, that’s what Shane keeps dismissing it as. With the current state of the world, it could’ve very well been post-bite fever or a psychotic break.

He’d been digging for reasons unknown and unintentionally ruined the good news of the incredible amount of food they were going to have tonight in the process. Shane went all cop on him, which didn’t really surprise you after what happened with Ed, and the whole ordeal ended with Jim being tied to a tree after ranting and raving about how he left his family for dead. Everyone seemed to move on after that, the mothers dragged their children off to do schoolwork and a few of the other adults started setting up for the fish fry, but you found yourself a little nauseous.

It looked like he was digging graves, and why did he go into such intense detail?

Hiding away in your tent, you lay down on top of your sleeping bag and throw a ball of socks up just to catch it as it comes down. You hoped the action would be therapeutic — something to take your mind off the image of Jim’s poor family and how it bleeds into the image of your own — but the socks lack the weight of a real ball, and you can’t get out of your head.

Had washing your parents’ blood off your skin absolved you of any responsibility in their deaths? Were you doomed to end up like Jim?

Would you also, someday soon, have a psychotic break?

“Hey, Y/n?” Lori’s soft voice drifts through the thin fabric of your tent as he speaks timidly.

For a beat, you decide if you want to be silent and let her think you’re asleep. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Shane’s gonna teach Carl and Sophia to clean fish. He wanted to know if you’d join.”

You already know how to gut an animal. Squirrels, rabbits, and even a deer, once — Daryl had always been very big on you learning how to survive in the time you spent together, and that learning involved getting over the grossness of animal entrails very, very quickly. You were living through the end of the world, he’d reasoned, you don’t have time to be weak-stomached.

And you don’t want to spend time with Shane. That’s at the top of the list of things you don’t want.

But you’re not going to tell the woman that you dislike the man she was sleeping with, so you say, “I already know how to.” 

There’s another beat of silence, and you can see the shadow of her willowy figure shift through the wall of the tent.

“Can I come in?”

You, certainly not expecting that, pause. 

“Uh, sure.”

You sit up and push yourself to the back of the tent, watching as Lori unzips the door and ducks down inside. She’s got sincere eyes. So sincere that when she crouches down in front of you and meets your gaze, your skin starts to crawl.

“You feelin’ okay?”

You hate that question. Something burns behind your nose and you snuggle, shrugging pitifully. “Dunno. Pretty shit — what happened to Jim, I mean.”

Lori nods thoughtfully. “Yeah… it is.”

She looks a little pale. Surely, the death of children doesn’t sit well with a mother, even if they aren’t her own.

“I, uh, I understand that you’ve had a rough time.” The brunette doesn’t seem to know what to say to you, and you almost feel bad. “I mean, I don’t. Not really. And you don’t have to tell me anything.” She stresses that point with a sweep of her hand. “But I know something must’ve happened because everyone has something happen.”

You nod along, fiddling with a loose string on your jeans. 

“I— Daryl and Merle don’t exactly seem like the easiest people to talk to, so if you ever need anything, me and Carol are right here, okay?”

“…okay.”

She smiles softly at you, and you spare one back. Lori and Carol are perfectly nice women, but you almost prefer Daryl, who has put a ban on personal questions and mostly ignores the emotional side of everything. You know you aren’t going to go to Lori and tell her things.

You wouldn’t even know where to start. 

“Y’know, Carl likes you? Like, a lot.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm. Sophia, too.”

Deep down, you know this is her trying to coax you out of the tent, but you let it boost your ego anyway. There’s something so incredibly normal (and endearing) about being looked up to — even if, sometimes, it gets a little annoying.

“And I’m guessing they would really, really like it if I went out there and helped Shane gut fish with ‘em?”

“Yeah. They would.”

Pursing your lips, you stare at the woman through slightly narrowed eyes before sighing and giving in.

“Alright…”

She grins widely and it kind of makes up for it.

Shane seems to be getting frustrated with the ordeal when you arrive, correcting Sophia’s stance with a tightness pulling at his smile as Lori gently nudges you along. You take the seat next to him without a word, pretending you don’t notice how he and the woman exchange a look, or how Carl shifts toward you on the log. It’s a hundred degrees out and he’s attached to your hip already, watching with those big blue eyes of his as you silently grab a fish off the pile and get to gutting it. 

You can remember the steps well: descale, cut a slit in the belly, remove the guts and fins and head, and rinse. 

“Look at you.” Shane compliments in a drawl, finally getting Sophia to do what he needed her to. “Like a swan to water.”

With a wrinkled nose, you drop fish innards into a bucket and turn to look at him as you shake the blood off your hands.

“Yeah, well, you spend enough time with the Dixons and you’ll learn how to gut anything.”

Something dark flashes across his face but you don’t care. You turn back to the fish, making a little joke to Carl about fish eyes that makes his entire face scrunch up and draws a long ‘Ewww’ from his lips. The laugh that bursts from you rattles in your bones.

──────────────────

“Hey, Dale, you got a?—“ The question dies on your lips as, upon stepping over the threshold of the RV, you stumble upon Andrea.

Every cabinet in the mobile home’s little kitchenette is open and she appears to be rooting through them desperately. At the sound of your voice, she pauses, looking up at you like she’s an animal and you just caught her looking through your garbage cans.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” You retort, shifting your weight. “Do you know where Dale is?”

“No, but I wish I did.” She heaves a sigh and runs her hand through her hair.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the woman quite so frantic. Somewhere down the line, Andrea Harrison was a lawyer, and it’s hard to imagine her standing in the front of a courtroom, prim and proper and ready to kick some ass, with her standing in front of you like this.

“Can I help you any?” You ask just as Dale finally responds to his summons, stepping over the threshold with a quiet, “Did I hear my name?“

“Yeah.” Both you and Andrea answer at once, but you step back and gesture to her. “I think she needs help first.”

The blonde spares you a nervous smile.

“Alright. What do you need?”

“Wrapping paper, color tissue, anything?”

(Okay, maybe you regret letting her go first. At this rate, you’ll never get that bandaid.)

You stare at her with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up face. 

“Seriously?” Dale shares in your confusion, glancing warily between the two of you. You offer him a shrug.

“How could you not have any?”

“Had I been informed of the impending apocalypse I'd have stocked up.”

Your snort at the old man’s dry words earns you a particularly derisive look from Andrea. “What? It’s the end of the world and you need wrapping paper. Shoot me for finding that amusing.”

“It’s Amy’s birthday tomorrow.” She says it like you should know that (probably because you should.) “I've been marking days on the calendar just to make sure.”

Your eyes wander over to the calendar on the wall of the RV as she lifts the necklace that she stole for a gift to her sister. Surely enough, Andrea has been crossing out the days on it. 

Despite what you expected, there is no big circle over Amy’s birthday or anything, but you then figure that would probably ruin the surprise. Your older (in age and not maturity) blonde friend had come to you earlier in the week and lamented to you about the situation. While you’d always known that Andrea was the older of the pair, you didn’t know just how much until Amy filled you in on the ghosts of birthday past; she told you all about the older blonde’s broken promises to return to the nest for her little sister’s birthday, about how, more often than not, college and other things got in the way. She must’ve seen the calendar, too, and been disappointed by the apparent lack of acknowledgment that it was growing closer and closer to her favorite holiday.

“You can’t leave a gift unwrapped.” 

“Oh, it’s good that you got something. I think she thinks you forgot.” That was told to you in confidence, but you stretched the truth a bit, so it isn’t that bad, right?

Dale and Andrea both look at you for a moment before he nods his head slowly. “Alright. Deep breath. I’m sure we’ll find something.” He turns back to face you. “What did you need?”

As if a lightbulb turned on over your head, you lift up your hand and the handkerchief that’s been wrapped around your minor flesh wound. “Carl cut me while I was demonstrating. I just need a bandaid.”

The old man shakes his head at you and steps around Andrea to go get the first aid kit, muttering to himself about the youth of today and how you’re going to lose your limb if you aren’t more careful.

──────────────────

As the grating summer sunlight fades into the darkness of dusk, taking the heat with it, the whole group (excluding the men in Atlanta and Ed, who refused to show his face around camp) sits down for the biggest meal most of them have had since the end of the world.

Cold beer and water are handed out as serving trays full of fried fish get passed around between the clusters of people who gather around their fires, the murmur of their happy chatter and soft laughter cutting through the blanketing sounds of the night. After the big fight and Jim’s foreboding breakdown, it’s nice to see everyone smiling and knowing that nobody’s going to ruin it this time — even if you can’t really find yourself joining in on the festivity.

“Pass the fish, please?”

“Here you go.”

“Man, I missed this.”

Sitting down on the end of one of the logs and feeling a little removed from everyone else, you wrap your coat tighter around your frame and let yourself worry about the group of men who went into the city. You don’t know Rick Grimes too well — he didn’t exactly give you the chance to get to know him, did he? — but you do know Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl. You know that they’re very capable men and that, in certain circumstances, most of them have more experience with geeks than you do, but you can’t help but worry. The sun has long since set, meaning that the men, wherever they are, are stranded out in the dark. You don’t really remember the nights from when it was just you and Daryl (a combination of many sleepless nights and too-high adrenaline made the memories blur together), but you know enough to know that things do get worse when the sun goes down; geeks aren’t exactly quiet, but they can really sneak up on you when there’s no light and your body wants to sleep.

Experienced or not, they're going to be tired eventually, and, if Merle doesn’t try to kill them, something else will.

“Hey, Nervous Nellie.” Shane draws your attention to him by nudging your leg with his boot, “Yeah, you— how's the fish?” 

Your eyes flit down to the bottle in his hand. Beer surely makes him a little looser.

“It’s alright.”

The ex-cop cocks a brow and echoes your response. “Alright?”

You really wish he’d just leave you alone. 

Truth be told, you don’t really like the food. It’s bland and it tastes fishy in the worst way, and (even if you’ll admit that you’ve been eating it like a death row inmate getting their last meal as if indigestion isn’t a thing), chasing it down with water isn’t helping. Sure, it’s better than the food you’ve been eating for weeks — better than measly mushrooms, canned rations, and whatever game the Dixon brothers could hunt up — but it’s not great.

“It’s no cheeseburger.” You shrug, stabbing some more of the pale flesh with your fork. “But beggars and choosers, and all that.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Morales interjects lightheartedly, tipping the head of his beer in your direction. You smile a thin-lipped smile.

The arrival of his long-lost best friend has made Shane rather… unsettling. Whether it’s because of how cold Lori has been acting toward him or his superiority complex, you’re not sure. You just know that you want Daryl to come back, even if that means putting up with Merle for the rest of his life.

“I’ll be right back.” You dismiss yourself quietly to Jacqui when the temperature changes and your discomfort proves to be too much. She nods absentmindedly, too engrossed with whatever Dale is saying to really respond, and takes the plate from you when you hand it over. 

You slip away into the darkness pretty easily, retreating to your tent in search of a sweatshirt, a breather, and maybe some reassurance that the redneck you’ve grown to like could survive whatever came at him. 

With a press of your hand, the nylon flap of your tent opens and you step in. Pausing briefly to turn on the little electric lantern on the floor, you then scan the small space with your eyes, looking for anything that might pass as something with long sleeves. There’s already a pile of dirty clothes forming in the corner and most of your stuff is strewn about, but you ignore that and grab for your bag— an old duffel that belonged to Daryl’s deceased father. Curling your fingers around one of the fraying straps, you pull it up and toward you, rooting through the stuff in there until you find it. A red and black flannel.

Somewhere down the line — just like most of your stuff did — the flannel belonged to one of the Dixons. It hangs loose on your frame, the sleeves too long for your arms and the length stopping mid-thigh. 

Buttoning it up, you cuff the sleeves and fiddle with the ends for a few minutes until they sit in a way you like. 

Just as you’re able to breathe a deep breath and feel remotely at peace, a blood-curdling scream, followed by many more, cuts through the quiet dark of the night. Adrenaline is the first thing you feel, your heart beating in your ears and your lungs squeezed of air, and worry is the second, fear for your friends forcing your legs to move and push out of your tent again. Though, before you can do that, you’re greeted by two rotting hands shoving their way through the opening and grabbing at your shoulders in a surprisingly iron grip. The shock of seeing a geek so up-close causes you to stumble back, but your ankle twists harshly — sending you sprawling to the ground with the monster right on top of you. 

“Oh, god!” The cracked scream leaves your lips, the now-shattered glass from the lantern digging into the skin of your leg.

The walker is — or, was — a man. It gnashes its teeth and pushes toward you, the sound of the bones clacking together making you whimper. Is this what your parents felt in their last moments? Jim’s wife and kids? Very quickly, your arms start to tremble under the weight of the much larger body, and you decide to not resign yourself to the same fate. Craning your head, you search for a weapon. 

There’s no way for you to reach your gun right about now, which you can’t really shoot with one hand anyway, but there has to be something else — anything you can use.

As the walker claws desperately at your shirt and groans miserably, you have to make the rash decision to remove one hand from its chest and give yourself less leverage to reach blindly behind you. Panicked breaths puff past your lips and your head starts to feel light as you grab at your stuff. Your fingers tightening around your sleeping bag, you give a harsh tug and hear the faintest sound of objects clattering around. The walker pushes down on your forearm as your fingers touch what feels like the hilt of a knife. Daryl must’ve thrown it in with your belongings a while back.

Letting out a strangled and panicked sound, you take the weapon and stab the walker with all your might.

The steel of the blade pops the walker’s eye upon entry and slides right through to its brain. Closing your eyes and mouth, you whip your head to the side as a mixture of ink-like blood and gel-like eye fluids drip down the hilt of the knife and onto your face. Its body, now eerily still and limp, falls on top of yours, making it hard to fully inhale as stuttered, panicked breaths rack your chest. As the sounds of gunshots and screams continue from outside the tent, you roll the body off you and force yourself up on your knees, gasping breaths through frightened sobs as you try to tug the knife out of the dead head.

As you pull it free, another walker stumbles into your tent and tries to pounce on you. Before it can bite a chunk out of your body, the tent door is being pushed open and a bullet is shattering its skull.

“Y/n!?” Glenn’s voice is just audible over the deadly mixture of your heartbeat and painful ringing in your ears, his eyes wide as he hopes what he just shot was actually dead before he shot it. “Y/n?!”

“Glenn.” You whimper, kicking the other dead body away from you. Your alleviation that the men from Atlanta are alive is short-lived.

“Oh.” He breathes in relief and slings the gun over his shoulder, reaching out to hold your forearms. “Oh. You’re okay. Oh, god. That’s good.”

“Daryl— is— is Daryl?” You can barely form words, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“Daryl’s fine. C’mon. We have to get out of here!”

He ushers you to your feet. The pain in your calf worsens as you stand up on shaky legs, every movement causing the glass to shift in your skin, and you stumble forward into his chest.

“I can’t— I hurt my leg.” You hiccup and Glenn sighs softly, wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders so he can half carry you.

“I have you.”

Glenn leads you out into the chaos. What’s left of camp isn’t very different from what Sedalia was like all those weeks ago — bodies, both rotting and fresh, littering the floor and the once-contained fires roaring loudly against the stones. Howls of anguish and sobs fill the air. 

“Y/n! Y/n!” Daryl’s southern drawl echoes through the remains of the camp, worry, fear, and anger lacing his words. “Where the hell is the kid?!”

The survivors are all gathered around the RV, and you watch as he shoves Shane lightly for getting in his way.

“Where are they? Did you leave them alone?” Rick tacks on as T-Dog tries to get in between them, his son in his arms. “Has anyone seen Y/n?”

As the moonlight casts a blue shadow on your blood and grime covered skin, you let go of Glenn and find it within yourself to shout. “I’m right here!”

The redneck’s head snaps over to you and he abandons his antagonism against the ex-cop in favor of running over to you. Daryl grabs your face in both of his hands and starts scanning over your features.

“You alright? Any of this blood yours?” He whispers gruffly.

“I’m… I mean I hurt my leg but otherwise I’m fine. No bites.” Your hollow voice cracks slightly as you speak, and your gaze flits away from him as he bends down to check your leg. “Is that?…”

Andrea sits, crumpled at the foot of the door into the RV. In her lap is Amy. Sweet Amy. Amy, who missed texting more than most and still had this beautiful ability to wonder in her twenties. Amy, whose birthday is tomorrow.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

Your blood runs cold and your stomach drops so fast you might fall over as the older blonde’s bloody hands brush across your dead friend’s pale skin. 

“Don’t look.” Your guardian orders once he’s followed your gaze, but it’s too late.

Tears, burning hot and long coming, spill out of your eyes and down your cheeks. Daryl sighs and, because the attention isn’t on either of you, lets you curl into his chest, his hand rubbing down your back in an attempt at comforting you.

It’s useless, though. 

Andrea’s sobs filter through the air as a heavy silence overcomes the rest of the group, each and every one of them consumed with the weight of what they’ve lost.

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[minervadashwood]

Scars and Stitches, Chapter 18: Trespassers Daryl X PlusSize!Reader (she/her)

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Series Masterlist | Daryl x Reader Masterlist

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Chapter Summary: You go on a walk with Dale. A threat encroaches on the farm. Word Count: 2,300 Warnings: Shane Walsh being awful, language, violence, mentions of past abuse, and mentions of drug use/addiction.

This chapter also mentions suicide.

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“You know that you’ve found something amazing, and you want to hold on to it forever; and every second after…you fear the moment you might lose it.” ― Kiera Cass, The Elite

It only took three days until Daryl refused to stay in bed and recover. Your only victory was convincing him to wait a few days more before hunting again. However, he still volunteered for more than his share of watch shifts and even took to patrolling the interior fences of the farm. As much as you tried to make him take it easy, he was incorrigible.

In addition to all your chores, you'd started learning what you could from Hershel and Patricia. The depth of Hershel’s knowledge was astounding. You pestered him with questions, often describing the kind of injuries that could happen on the road or on runs. He answered them in his stern, matter-of-fact way.  In doing so, you were not only learning how to treat said injuries, but also making it clear to Hershel how important his farm and his doctoring was to helping your group survive.

However, your growing unease regarding Shane intensified with each day.  So, you went to seek counsel with the only one in camp who’d read more philosophy than you: Dale.

The two of you were walking along the fence line, careful to not stray too far from where Daryl, the lookout, could see you. You’d taken to always having your knife with you, and today you’d also brought your crossbow, just in case. Its strap and weight—albeit not significant—made you feel slightly braver than you used to be.

After you and Dale chatted a bit over inconsequential things, you asked, "How are things with you and Andrea?"

"We've reached a stalemate, but at least she's speaking to me again."  Despite the pain in his voice, Dale kept smiling; you admired that in him.

"You saved her life. I would've done the same thing for someone I cared about."

Dale sighed, looking off into the distance. "That's a simple way of looking at the situation. What Andrea had was a choice, and I took that away from her. I had no right to do it."

"Surely someday, she'll thank you," you insisted.

Dale sighed and took a moment before speaking again. "When it comes to death, we tend to reduce it to the simplest of terms. But death—and the knowledge of it—is part of what makes us human. Most of us don't get a chance to choose when we die, but some do."

"But Dale, most suicides are caused by mental illness, which can be treated. Even though we don't have medication for it like we used to, we can't just...let it happen!"

"Why not?"

His question was absurd. "Don't we have a duty to each other? Stopping someone from killing themselves is a good thing. It's the right thing."

Dale stopped and leaned on a fence post. He looked at you with sad eyes, but you sensed resignation.

"Have you ever watched someone waste away in front of you? Ever seen them suffer more than any human ever should? Heard them beg you to end things, just to get away from the pain?”

He was talking about his wife. Unfortunately, you could relate. A little.

You said, "I've seen someone I love try to kill themselves slowly for years, with heroin and later fentanyl.”

He raised his brow. "You try to help them?"

You nodded, fists at your sides. "I did everything I could."

"What happened?"

You had to take a moment. You hadn't purposefully thought of your little brother since leaving Atlanta.  God you missed him. Your heart ached. Was the loss of him your fault? If he weren't dead, he may as well be, to you, at least. You'd never see him again.

You looked at Dale, tears in your eyes. "I gave up on him."

"Or did you just realize it wasn't in your power to fix him?"

You couldn't speak. Was that true? You'd worked all this out in therapy, but that was when you could always find him, always call him, track him down if you needed to. None of that was possible anymore.

Dale said, "Maybe what we owe to each other is love and respect. And the courage to accept that some decisions aren't ours to make."

"You really think so?"

"I'm not claiming to have the right answer, or even a right answer, but I think you have to ask yourself what right you have to decide how others live. Or don't."

“My therapist kept reminding me I couldn’t fix my brother. For a long time I refused to accept that. Eventually, I did, at least I stopped trying. I still don’t know if that was the right choice.”

“’Make the most of your regrets. Never smother your sorrow but tend and cherish it ’till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.’”

“Thoreau.”

“He was right. About a few things. Once in a while.”

“He wouldn’t have lasted long in this world, though,” you chuckled. Thoreau preached in his book about living off the land and savoring nature, but he rarely practiced what he preached. Daryl was more like Thoreau than the Henry David ever was.

Dale laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”

As your laughter died down, you at last remembered why you had brought Dale all the way out here.

“What if, hypothetically,” you began, “someone committed murder to save someone else?  In this world, in this time, is that the right thing to do? Or is it just as reprehensible as before?”

Dale didn’t miss a beat. "Are you talking about Shane?"

"Y-y-you knew?" The realization floored you. You were both disappointed in yourself for not seeing what Dale and Daryl did, but also frustrated that neither of them had done anything about it.

"I put the pieces together,” Dale was saying. “He all but confirmed it the other day."

You rubbed the back of your neck, doing your best to keep your temper in check. "Daryl knew right away. He doesn't think anyone would believe him."

"He's observant for someone who keeps himself so apart from us."

You nodded. "He's had his eyes on Shane ever since..." Oh, right that was a secret.

"Ever since?"

You took a deep breath, intuitively sensing you could trust Dale. "He tried to assault Lori. I walked in on it and stopped him. He put me in a wristlock for my trouble."

"So that's how it started,” Dale nodded, as if solving some mystery. “Anytime Shane went near you, Daryl’s eyes were on him.”

“I was worried he might retaliate, so was Daryl. We wanted Lori to tell Rick, but she refused to.”

Those few days had been nerve-wracking, but you’d never felt alone through the ordeal. Daryl would always check in with you, would find ways to be with you if Shane got too close or tried to separate you from the group.

Dale watched you for a moment, as if thinking something over. Eventually he said, “You changed something in Daryl.”

"Me?"

"The day Merle walked out of camp, and you walked in, Daryl became a new man."

You shook your head. " It has nothing to do with me. This is the person Daryl has always been. But Merle tried to bully it out of him. Maybe I saw it before anyone else, but this is who Daryl has always been."

“Well, we’re lucky to have him, that’s for sure.”

God, you knew that was true. “Sure are,” you murmured.

"So what does he think we should do about Shane?"

You weren’t sure that Daryl had any plans or hopes about the situation; you just knew that he was worried and felt something needed to be done. “Honestly, I think what Daryl wants is simply for the group to be safe. I know it may seem like he only looks out for me, Carol, and Sophia, but he cares about everyone."

Daryl never said as much to you, but you knew it to be true from the way he threw himself into all of his different jobs, as if he let up for a second things would fall apart. He continuously sacrificed his well-being to make sure everyone in the group was protected and fed.

Dale said, "I think this is going to be Rick's call, but maybe the best thing would be if Shane left. He was planning to before Carl was shot."

You peered up at Dale. "Does that mean Andrea would go, too?"

"More than likely." He smiled sadly at you, corners of his eyes watery. 

"Oh, Dale." You threw your arms around him, giving him a strong hug. "You know you'll always have the rest of us.  Whatever the world has in store for the future, we'll all face it together."

Dale patted your back and broke the hug. "Stop all this concern over me. Don't want Daryl watching us through the binoculars and getting the wrong idea."  Dale chuckled and started walking back to camp.

He was clearly cutting your conversation short, and as badly as you wanted to press him for more guidance, you would feel guilty for taking up more of his time.

You were about to follow him back to camp when, behind you and off to the side, you heard a rustling in the trees. You spun on your heels and had your crossbow out in one smooth motion. Your evenings of practice were paying off.

You crept along the fence, crossbow pressed against your shoulder and eyes scanning the woods beyond the boundary of the farm.

You heard Dale call your name, but you motioned for him to be quiet. He didn’t say anything, but he noisily walked toward you. You heard him take out his knife. Compared to Daryl, the man was as loud as a bulldozer

Dale put his hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away, but you shrugged him off.

“I got this,” you whispered.

“I don’t think you need to—"

Dale stopped short when two walkers emerged from the forest, growling and staggering right in your direction. You tiptoed away from Dale and farther away from the fence, putting distance between you and the boundary. You knew the fence would protect you.

When the first walker slammed into the fence and struggled stupidly against it, you pressed your chin to the chin rest and looked down the sight of your crossbow.

Deep breath, exhale, shoot.

The bolt sprang free and lodged itself in the walker’s skull.

You did it. You weren’t useless; you weren’t a damsel in distress. You were a fighter. You were strong.

You forced yourself to calm down again, quickly cocked your bow, and loaded another bolt.

You’d just settled the bow against your shoulder, when heavy footsteps pounded in your direction, drawing your focus away from the second walker.

Daryl was running with his crossbow out. He didn’t even bother coming to a stop before he pulled the trigger and killed the remaining walker.

You lowered your crossbow and turned to face him, annoyed, then annoyed that you were annoyed. He was only doing what he’d always done: protecting you.

Suddenly, Daryl’s hands were cupping your cheeks, and his eyes were frantically looking you over. Sweat poured off him, and he was coiled like a spring. 

His hands moved to your shoulders, smoothing down the length of your arms.  Daryl took the crossbow from you and put it back around your shoulders. Then he held your hands tightly, and gazed at you for a long moment, breathing heavily and vibrating with so much tension that you almost trembled right along with him.

“You alright?” he demanded, his voice sharp and breathless.

“I’m fine,” you said, befuddled. “They never got near me. I did just what you taught me to do.”

Daryl nodded, and then he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and let you go, turning away just as Shane, Andrea, and Rick—all of them armed—jogged up to the scene.

Daryl glanced back at them, but in the next second he was gone.  You watched him hop over the fence, yank the crossbow bolts from the walkers’ skulls, and stalk into the woods.

You stared at the trees through which Daryl had vanished for half a second before giving in to your urge to follow him.

Rick shouted after you.

You turned and quickly explained yourself. “He shouldn’t be alone out there. He’s still hurt.”

That was enough to convince Rick, and he hurriedly ran up to you.  With Rick’s help, you made it over the fence, and the both of you entered the tree line.

“Daryl?” you whispered loudly.

No response.

Rick sighed. “He teach you any tracking skills?”

You shook your head.

Rick took a deep breath and let out an ear-piercing whistle.

It wasn’t two seconds later before Daryl appeared right in front of you.

He squinted at Rick. “You tryin’ to bring them all down on us?”

“You find more of them?” Rick asked.

Daryl shook his head. “Best keep quiet in case we do.”

Rick nodded, not at all ruffled by Daryl’s gruff tone.

Daryl took you by the elbow, pulling you to him and stared down at you. “You stay right behind me. We get in trouble, you run. I’ll find ya.”

You nodded.

Daryl held you there a moment longer, and eventually slid his hand from your arm.  He looked over your head at Rick.

“Somethin’ ain’t right about them walkers. You make sure nothin’ sneaks up on us.”

You knew Daryl well enough to see a hint of unease behind his stern glare.  Not much rattled Daryl Dixon, and if he was slightly worried, then it must be really bad.

You took a moment to cock your bow, and Daryl handed you back your bolt.  Then, in single file, you and Rick followed Daryl through the woods.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a reply/comment and letting me know what you think. Reblogs are great, too!

Next Chapter

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Taglist: @green-eyedladywrites @haleypearce @takeabreathdeath @phoenixblack89

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list: reply, send a message, or send an ask.

[gaming-writer-gal]

~~The Walking Dead~~

Characters

Daryl Dixon

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Glenn Rhee

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Maggie Greene/Rhee

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Beth Greene

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Hershel Greene

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Michonne Hawthorne

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Dale Horvath

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Rosita Espinosa

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Abraham Ford

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Tyreese Williams

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Sasha Williams

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Bob Stookey

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Carol Peletier

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Tara Chambler

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Gabriel Stokes

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Carl Grimes

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Enid

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Noah

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Ships

Maggie x Glenn

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Enid x Carl

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Bob x Sasha

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Abraham x Sasha

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Rosita x Abraham

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Beth x Noah

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X Reader

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[ineedmorefanfics2]

The Beginning Of The End

Fem!Grimes!Reader, Rick Grimes X Daughter!Reader, Carl Grimes X Sister!Reader (Platonic/Familial)

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Season One, Episodes 1-3.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m thinking of making this a series! Not a full rewrite of the show but important parts of the story just including you as a Grimes. Ex. Carl getting shot, Lori’s pregnancy, the prison falling, the line up. Let me know what you think! :)

The end of the world was something you never thought you’d live to see. Something you never thought you’d live to feel. It was utter terror that had consumed you as you stood with your mother and Shane as you watched the bombs descend into the city.

The way your mother clutched onto you like a life line as she buried her head into your shoulder, refusing to watch the chaos erupting just mere miles away.

You didn’t look away, you couldn’t. You felt your heart break with every building that collapsed, could feel the rattling of the explosions in your very bones.

It was Shane who had pulled your attention away, clutching you to his chest and shielding your eyes.

You let him, soft sobs escaping your mouth. Eyes squeezed shut to block out the noise of the bombs and the panicked screams of those around you. And for just a second, it wasn’t Shane’s arms you felt around you, but the warm embrace of your father instead.

Then your mother was grabbing your arm, mumbling about Carl who was sitting back at the car with Sophia, Carol and her asshole of a husband who you had met while trying to reach the evacuation center.

Not a few weeks later and Shane had become unofficial leader of a small group of survivors, your family included.

The lot of you had set up around a quarry and after getting settled, you were all given jobs. You were in charge of keeping an eye on the kids when their mother’s were busy, and just generally helping out where you could.

You didn’t mind the kids, the job giving you more time to bond with your brother, Carl.

Before the apocalypse you were a high school senior, and Carl was an elementary student. While the two of you didn’t dislike the other, between school and your part time job it was hard to bond with him. But after the loss of your father and the start of the apocalypse, the two of you were never seen apart. You’d be damned if you lost him too.

“We’re heading out.” Glenn’s voice spoke from behind you, making you flinch and breaking you from your thoughts

You turned towards him, flicking the front of his baseball cap. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Glenn had been the first person that you had formed a relationship with outside of your small family circle. The two of you were close in age, with a similar sense of humor and taste in music. He was always kind, always asking if you needed anything or helping you round up the kids when needed.

Shane liked to tease the two of you, as did Dale, but the relationship between you two was always on the platonic side. Glenn was like the older brother you never had.

“Sorry.” He replied with a sheepish smile. “You need anything while we’re out?”

You thought for a moment. “If you find anything for the kids that would be great. Oh, and we’re running low on feminine products. If you just tell Andrea she should know what to get.”

“Got it, we’ll be back in a few hours.” He turned to walk away but you were quick to grab his arm, giving him a tight hug that he was quick to reciprocate.

“Be safe, and come back.” You muttered, and he nodded, giving you one last tight squeeze before running off to find the others he’d be leaving with.

“Don’t I get a hug, sweetheart?”

Merle Dixon’s voice rang out from behind you. A racist pig who got on everyone’s nerves and pushed his younger brother around like a slave. Something he’d probably been doing since before the apocalypse.

You opened your mouth to respond to him, but someone else beat you to it.

“Leave ‘er alone, Merle. She’s just a kid.” Daryl grumbled from behind his brother.

“Ah, don’t worry little brother, she’s eighteen. It’s completely legal.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“I’d rather sleep with a walker.” You muttered. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, anyways?” You pointed to Glenn, who was waving Merle’s way.

“Conversation ain’t over sweetheart.” Merle quipped before hurrying away.

“It definitely is.” You muttered as you rolled your eyes before turning towards Daryl, who gave you a sheepish look.

“Sorry bout him.” He mumbled.

You hummed. “Not your fault, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

He stayed silent.

“You going hunting?” You asked.

He nodded. “Was just about to head out.”

“Perfect, give me one second.” You turned away from, grabbing the satchel that sat on ground beside you and rifling through it. You pulled out a bundle of newspapers, letting the satchel drop back to the ground as you handed it to Daryl.

He took it from you, peeling back the paper to peak inside.

“Fish?” He questioned.

“Amy and Andrea caught a lot yesterday. I cooked a couple pieces for you last night.” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. “I know you usually go hunting when Merle leaves and I thought you’re probably sick of raw squirrel, so I made you something else to eat. Should last for a day or two.”

He sent a soft smile your way, bundling the paper up once more before bringing his hand up to ruffle your hair. “Thanks, kid.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Daryl went off, heading into the woods with his fish and crossbow. It wasn’t long before you were turning back to your task at hand, which was finding Amy and Andrea more bait for fishing.

As you bent down to dig your fingers into the soil of the ground to search for worms, small arms wrapped around your waist.

You let out a soft chuckle. “Need something, Carl?”

“Watcha’ doing?” He asked.

“Looking for worms, wanna help?”

“Yes! Wait, no. Dale sent me to look for mom so I gotta find her first.” He replied. “Do you know where she is?”

“I believe she’s looking for firewood. Why don’t you let her do that, while we look for worms. You can catch her when she comes back.” You responded, and with a quick glance around and no sign of Shane, you knew where she really was.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew of the relationship between Shane and your mother. She was terrible at hiding it, if you were honest.

You didn’t exactly like it, but you didn’t hate it. You trusted Shane, had grown up with him. He was there when you were born, had seen every low and high you’d faced, even took you joyriding in his cruiser when you got a license. And when you got dumped in sophomore year, he was there to take you out to dinner and a movie before bringing you to egg the asshole’s house.

He was also there when your dad got shot and he had then been the one to tell you that your father died. Shane was the reason you’d survived so long and you couldn’t thank him enough.

He was a good man, a great man, but he wasn’t your father. It also wasn’t your decision who your mother slept with, so you did the responsible thing and kept your opinion to yourself.

“If you find more than ten I’ll let you keep one, deal?” Carl beamed at the idea, instantly kneeling to the ground and ripping up dirt.

You laughed, ruffling his hair before doing your own search for the slimy critters.

A few hours passed, the sun beginning to settle when you started getting antsy.

You had filled two small pails of worms thanks to Carl, colored with Sophia and even had time to do a load of laundry.

Amy was sick with worry and her anxiety wasn’t making you feel any better. You knew the few of your people that had gone out to scavenge should’ve been back by now and you couldn’t help but think of the worst possibilities.

As you clipped the last wet shirt in your hand onto a clothesline, voices reached your ears.

“Is it them? Are they back?” Amy asked, and it was then you heard the alarm of a car.

You made your way over, the other group members making their way along with you.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Dale muttered as he looked through his binoculars.

“What is it?” Amy asked.

“A stolen car is my guess.” He replied.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and turned to see your mother who was holding Carl’s hand with Shane standing right behind her.

A red sports car blaring it’s alarm pulled up next to the RV Dale owned, and the group was quick to make their ways towards it.

Glenn came out, grinning from ear to ear.

“Holy crap, turn that damn thing off!” Dale chastised as Shane made his way to the front of the car.

“I don’t know how!” Glenn replied and you had to stifle your laugh.

“Would you pop the damn hood, please?” Shane called as Amy ran over, questioning Glenn about her sister’s whereabouts.

When Glenn didn’t answer, Shane repeated himself, this time with more authority.

“Okay, okay!” Glenn quickly popped the hood of the car.

“Is she okay? Where is she?” Amy pushed.

“She’s all right, she’s okay!”

“Is she coming back? Why isn’t she with you?”

You made your way to Amy, grabbing ahold of her arm gently. “Relax, he said she’s okay so she’s okay.” You assured her.

“She’s fine, everyone is fine.” Glenn spoke. “Well, Merle not so much.”

Before you could speak, Shane was quick to cut you off. “Are you crazy, driving this wailing bastard up here? Are you trying to draw every walker for miles?”

“I think we’re okay.” You muttered, and Shane sent a glare towards you.

“You call being stupid okay?”

“Well the alarm was echoing all over these hills, hard to pinpoint the source.” Dale pointed out, coming to your rescue.

Shane’s hardened expression switched to him, and Dale put his hands up in surrender. “I’m not arguing, I’m just saying. But it wouldn’t hurt you to think things through more carefully next time.”

He pointed towards Glenn, who muttered out a sorry. “Got a cool car though.” He said with a smile, gesturing towards the red vehicle.

It was then that a truck approached, pulling up behind the sports car.

You watched the rest of your group exit the vehicle, Andrea running towards Amy and Morales making his way towards his family.

Jackie and T-Dog were next but Merle was nowhere to be seen.

“How’d y’all get out of there anyways?” Shane questioned and Glenn was quick to respond.

“New guy, he got us out.”

Your brows furrowed as Shane asked your unanswered question. “New guy?”

“Yeah,” Morales replied. “crazy vato just got into town.” He turned towards the truck. “Hey helicopter boy! Come say hello!” He yelled.

You watched as the man stepped out of the truck and your heart stopped.

The hair, the face, the uniform. It couldn’t be. There’s no way, it couldn’t be real.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t even comprehend what was happening as you watched your father exit the truck, hand going over his mouth as he caught sight of your brother.

“Dad!? Dad!” Carl screamed, and then he was running.

Your father scooped him up, tears falling from his eyes as the two fell to the ground in their embrace.

“Oh my god.” Your father cried.

He stood, arms around your brother who had latched onto him as your mother made her way over.

You watched, standing stone still in your spot as he embraced her, squeezing the two tightly.

“Y/N? Where’s Y/N?” He asked, gaze drifting around before his eyes landed on you.

You blinked. “Dad?” You croaked, and it was like a dam broke. Tears flooded your eyes as you rushed towards him.

Carl let go of him, stepping out of the way as you barreled into your father. Rick’s arms wrapped tightly around you as you shook, gasping in lungfuls of air between sobs as he held you.

“I thought… Shane said…” But you couldn’t finish your sentence, burying your face into the crook of his neck and holding onto him with all the strength in your body, as if letting him go would cause him to float away.

“It’s okay.” He shushed, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I’m here.”

And he really was.

[messersmoony]

Pizza Delivery’s Glenn Rhee x reader

Glenn Rhee x reader

Summary: before the whole virus you and Glenn delivered pizzas together.

Warnings: sad and I don’t know.

You had always liked glenn. The man who worked with you at the pizza place. You though he was cute and funny. You two were great friends and had a ritual of racing during pizza drop offs. You couldn’t ever tell him though you liked him too much to ruin things.

You hopped off your bike and ran inside followed by Glenn.

“Y/n! Glenn! Where the hell have you been!? There are pizzas that need to be delivered get your asses out there!”

“Sorry John!” You yelled to your boss and grabbed half the pizza order while Glenn grabbed the other.

You fastened the pizzas to your bike and jumped on beginning to ride

“Hey that’s not fair I barely even got my pizzas on the bike before you were off.” He said riding to your side.

“Last one there doesn’t get the tip so you think I care?” You laughed and picked up some speed.

You got there first and ran up to the door knocking loud enough for the people to hear.

You grabbed the small tip before getting back on your bike.

“Another day another tip going to my jar.”

“I will beat you at least once today.”

———

When the virus became a bigger thing you were camped out at home. Enjoying some tv before the inevitable happened and you didn’t have it anymore. You heard a knock on your door.

You got up and walked over opening the door to Glenn.

“Y/n your one of my closest and only friends really so it’s only fair we do this together as what we are. Best friends.”

“What do you mean Glenn I’m a little confused?”

“This virus isn’t going to get better any time soon so we,” he waved his finger from you to him to back “are going to stick together. Deal?”

“Deal I guess. We combine our food and therefore we have two times the amount.”

“Great idea it’s all in my car.”

“You brought it all with you?”

“Well I was pretty sure you’d say yes.”

When things got worse like you and Glenn had predicted you knew you couldn’t survive on your own just the two of you. So you left and ended up finding the group.

———

“Glenn and y/n take t dog to the farm so he can get some antibiotics for his blood infection. Offer them some of merle’s drugs or something.”

So you grabbed some pills and made your way to the farm in a car.

You told the girl at the door how t dog needed help and you could offer them some weird pills from a fellow survivors collection and she let you in.

———

You were out looking for Dale after he had stormed out of the farm.

“Dale Rick and Glenn they are sorry. You have to know that it’s for the best he’s put down. It’s our only choice what if his group comes looking? Dale? Dale!” You sighed in defeat why must it have been you to go out and find him. “He must have gone back inside secretly.” You muttered to yourself and turned around.

But what faced you was worse than not finding dale. A walker right there and it grabbed you and knocked you down to the floor. Automatically you screamed.

Glenn heard it first and told the team they ran as fast as they could to get you.

You really tried to kick the zombie off of you but he had taken two large bites out of your arm so this wasn’t the easiest thing.

You heard a gunshot and felt the zombie be pulled off off you.

“Y/n? Oh god I’m sorry y/n please you’ll be ok.”

“No I won’t.” You laughed “I’ve been bit. Twice. You and me both know that we can’t just pull some saving out of the top jar and head to the hospital.”

He shook his head in denial.

“If the tide takes the farm I’m so glad I got to hold ya.”

“What y/n stop your speaking gibberish.”

“No I’m not. We’ve been living in a fault line and for a while you were all mine. I swear that I’ll be yours forever till forever falls apart.”

“I swear that I’ll be yours forever.” He had tears bringing his eyes

“Till forever falls apart?”

“We never had it from the start. I’m so glad I got to know ya. And if the sky falls from heaven above I’ll know I had the best time falling into love.”

“Till forever falls apart.” You finished and grabbed his hand before Darryl dragged him away and you looked at Rick.

“Please just do it.” You turned and looked at Glenn one last time tears falling from your eyes and you looked back up at Rick closing your eyes before Rick shot you in the head.

You didn’t want to go so soon but you had to tell Glenn you loved him.

[lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love]

Dead to Me: Prologue

Notes: This will be the first part of many, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Message me or leave an ask if you want to be tagged!

Y/N = Your name

Y/L/N = Your last name

N/N = Nickname

Y/H/C = Your hair color

Y/S/C = Your skin color

Y/E/C = Your eye color

Pairing/Characters: Daryl x Female!Reader -> slow burn; your sister’s name is Melanie

Chapter Description: You weren’t expecting this, any of this. What are you going to do now?

Warnings: Anxiety, fear, reader and her sister trying to survive, zombies, apocalypse, death of parents/stepparent(s)

Masterlist: Click Here

Word Count: 746

Deep breaths, okay? In, out; in and out — c’mon, just focus on that. Don’t look at anything, just focus on breathing. Keep your eyes closed and breathe.

You were on your knees, your eyes squeezed shut. Your hands went to your thighs as you knelt forward, trying to calm yourself down. Your head was spinning, your stomach lurched with each breath you took. Blood stained your hands and clothes, and had been splattered on the walls and ceiling. You could smell it, and it made you want to vomit again.

“Calm down,” you murmured, lowering your head. “Just calm down... you’ve got this.” You took in deep breath before letting it out. “Keep breathing, just keep breathing.”

After a couple more breaths, that did little to nothing to calm your nerves or your stomach, you opened your eyes. Blood stained the white walls and ceiling. Furniture was knocked over or broken. Then you saw it. The bodies. Your parents’ bodies.

You felt bile rising in your throat, and your eyes began to water.

Oh God, please don’t, you thought desperately. You’ve thrown up twice already, your throat still burning from it.

Too late. You threw yourself forward, supporting your upper body with trembling arms, as vomit spewed from your mouth. When you had nothing left, you continued to gag, spit dripping from your mouth.

Damn it.

———————————————————————

Everything was normal. Everyone would go about their lives without a care in the world, doing the same routines without a second thought. You used to enjoy that.

When the news started broadcasting about people getting infected with a mysterious virus, you thought nothing of it. It would pass, no big deal. You were wrong. The virus continued to spread at an alarming rate, and people were dying just as fast.

That caught your attention.

The virus had a high infection rate, and anyone who contracted it was immediately quarantined. Quarantine could only do so much. Soon, months had gone by and there were no signs of improvement. People started rioting, and you noticed the riots happened in waves. The first wave was minor, but still bad; people just wanted medicine and essentials, and they’d do anything to get it. The second wave was worse; people were destroying property, stealing whatever they could find, hurting each other. That riot came after news that scientists and doctors couldn’t create a vaccine for the healthy. The third wave was... unbelievable. You had no words to describe it. People were destroying anything they could get their hands on, some even killing others in fits of rage and panic.

It was a downward spiral from there. No amount of police force could stop what was happening, any amount of civility was long gone. Your family managed to avoid any major threats, until a few days prior. A window was broken, and someone broke in. Your stepfather and your mother went down to handle it, while you and your sister hid. You tried to convince them to let you help, but they refused.

“If there’s anyone else in the house,” your mother had said, “someone has to be here to protect your sister.”

As much as it pained you to admit it, she was right. Your sister’s only five, she couldn’t defend herself.

Your sister was sobbing into your shirt, gripping it tightly as she tried to be quiet. You held her, hoping to give her as much comfort as possible, but you were on the verge of running from the closet to help your parents.

Mom told you to stay here, you thought anxiously. There could be someone else in the house.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out a logical solution. From what you could hear going on downstairs, your parents weren’t doing so hot. There was a lot of screaming and cursing, and groaning and growling.

I can’t leave Melanie by herself, I was told to stay. You pursed your lips. But if I don’t help Mom and Ben, they’ll...

Gently prying Melanie from you, you explained the situation to her, that you were going to help your parents and you’d be back in a minute. Melanie begged for you to stay, but you promised her a safe return as long as she stayed hidden in the closet.

“I promise Mel,” you said, “I’ll be back. Just stay here and be quiet. I’ll come back for you when everything’s safe.”

You regret ever leaving that closet.

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[officergrimes-daddydixon]

The Walking Dead fanfic part seven

Note: hi guys, sorry this took soooooooo long to get out, I can’t apologise enough. I haven’t been at home and I’ve also written this in my phone. Anyway I hope you enjoy this and Sorry its short as well, I re wrote this like 5 times cause I didn’t know what felt right. Enjoy!! Warning: smut!! part one   part two   part three   part four   part five   part six   -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Rise and shine!”

The bright future light pierced your eyes as you lazily blinked them open. Maggie was standing by your bed with a tray of eggs and orange juice.

“You need to eat, get your energy up” she said, handing you the tray

You felt sick at the thought of eating but you knew you needed to. You handed the tray back to Maggie and she smiled, leaving the room after. You felt weak and tired, but you needed to go and find Daryl. You had to tell him that you saw Merle last night. You knew he wasn’t really there but it could be a sign that he was still alive. You peeled yourself from the bed and shuffled to the door. Once in the hallway, you were so concentrated on not falling over that you didn’t notice Lori walking towards you.

“Hi (y/n)” she said, startling you.

“Hey” you replied, looking up at her

“I just want to thank you for what you did last night. You helped out a lot” she said, no sign of actual thanks in her voice.

“It was no problem” you said, forcing a smile.

“But don’t think that changes anything” she said suddenly.

You looked at her confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what you know about me and Shane. I just find it strange how you’re suddenly helping out our son. I see the way you look at him (y/n)” she spat.

You felt a fire growing inside of you. How dare she talk to you like this?

“And I see the way you look at Shane. How can you still do that when you now know your husband is alive?”

“You better watch yourself ” she hissed.

“Or what? You gonna run to Rick? Oh sorry, I meant to say Shane”

Her eyes grew wide and you wondered if you went to far that time.

“I needed a distraction! I thought my husband was dead” she shouted.

“So dead people walking the earth isn’t a big enough distraction for you?”

“What Shane and I do is none of your business!”

“What the hell is going on here?” A voice came from behind you and you swung around to see Rick, a confused look on his face.

You froze in your spot, not knowing what to say. You didn’t want to be the one to tell him, that should come from either Lori or Shane, not a stranger.

“Well?” He asked, looking from you to Lori.

“Rick, its not what it sounds like-” Lori started

Rick put his hand up and silenced her. The man looked hurt, betrayed.

“You and Shane?” He asked.

“I thought you were dead Rick, I-I’m sorry!” She pleaded.

“I don’t want to hear it. And you knew?” He said, turning to you.

“Rick it wasn’t my place to tell you" you whispered.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He walked off, not saying a word. Lori was crying now, you went to comfort her but she shouted at you to leave her alone and she stalked off into Carl’s room. You sighed and continued outside to try and find Daryl. **** He scoffed when you told him about Merle. He brushed it off saying Merle was probably far from here and what you saw was ‘some dumb hallucination shit’. He walked over to Andrea and Glenn who were going out to look for Sofia, and they all left for the woods. You felt tired again. There was no one to talk to; Dale and T-dog were keeping watch and Carol was isolating herself inside the RV, and you didn’t know Hershel'a daughters enough to speak to them. So you decided to head to your tent and try and catch up on resting. **** It was dark out when you finally woke up. You felt groggy and wondered what time it was. Probably late evening, you thought. You exited the tent and saw T-dog on watch.

“Good morning” he joked, cracking a smile towards you.

“Shut up” you laughed. “What time is it?” “Late. Everyone should be asleep. Shane and Otis are out though, getting the supples for Carl, so you don’t need to give blood no more” You nodded in response. “There’s food for you in the kitchen, Rick saved it for you” You nodded and thanked him and headed to the house. It was dark inside, but the kitchen light was on. You walked in and saw a drunk Rick at the table, his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard you approach, his eyes were sad, but they lit up when he saw you. “Hey (y/n)” he said, leaning back in his chair “Hey” you replied, grabbing the plate of food from the counter. You sat opposite him and stared at the plate, you weren’t feeling hungry, in fact you felt sick. “You not hungry?” He asked “Not really” you replied, pushing the food around the plate. A silence fell over the both of you, it wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t completely comfortable either. You looked up to see rick staring you. “You feeling okay?” you asked him He sighed and grabbed another beer from the fridge. “My wife cheated on me with my best friend, how the hell do you think I feel?” He asked You looked down at the table when rick spoke again. “You’re beautiful” his voice was low and gravelly. “What?” You looked up in confusion. “You heard me” “Rick you’re drunk” you laughed. He laughed as well but his face showed he was serious. “I’m gonna head back outside” you said, not wanting to find out where this was going( as much as you wanted to). You headed to the sink to put your plate down and turned to head out the door when rick grabbed your wrist, stopping you on your tracks. “Rick-” you were cut off as he pulled you onto his lap, you were straddling him. His mouth immediately started attacking your neck and you moaned at his touch. You ran your fingers through his hair and pulled at it when he sucked on your pulse, making you feel dizzy but turned on at the same time. “You can’t deny that we have some chemistry” he said in between kisses. “ I see the way you look at me (y/n)”. Well shit, how obvious are you? “Not here” you whispered. He didn’t listen as he dug his fingers into your legs and bucked his hips slowly so that you could feel his bugle against you. “Lets go to my tent” you said. He nodded and you swung your legs of off him. You walked back to the tent, being careful not to get caught and trying to keep rick from falling over. Once inside the tent you zipped it up and turned to find Ricks lips pressed onto yours. His kisses were passionate and both your tongues were fighting for dominance, he won. You took off your top and jeans, and then took off Ricks clothes, leaving you both practically naked. “So beautiful” he murmured, staring up at your body. You straddled him once again and started kissing his lips, then made your way down to his jawline, neck and chest. His hands were roaming your body, stopping to squeeze your ass every time your hand brushed over his bulge. He unhooked your bra and you took off your underwear and his boxers, his throbbing cock springing free. You were surprised at how big he was, you grabbed his member and licked the under side of it, earning you a growl from Rick. “Come here” he huffed, pulling you up. You grabbed his cock and placed it at your entrance. He didn’t wait before thrusting upwards into you. You placed your hands on his chest to balance yourself. He thrusted into you mercilessly, not letting you adjust to his size. “Fuck” you said, you squeezed your eyes shut and then opened them once the pain had turned into pleasure. Rick grunted with every thrust and you placed kisses on his body. Once you had gotten used to his rhythm you started to work with it. You bounced down every time he thrusted up, causing both of you to groan at the pleasure. He suddenly grabbed your waist and flipped you on your back, still pounding into you. He dropped his head to the crook of your neck and was breathing heavily. He started biting your collarbone and neck, making you groan. “I’m close” you moaned “Me too” he grunted. He carries on pounding into you when you hit your high. You grabbed onto rick and arched your back into him, he thrusted into you and carried you through your high. “Let me make you feel good” he groaned as you held onto him, your body shook beneath him. Rick came after you, pounding a couple more times before pulling out and finishing on your stomach. He collapsed next to you and you were both panting. You sat up and grabbed a tissue to wipe off his seed from your stomach. After that you laid back down and rick wrapped his arm around you. “That’s the best sex I’ve had in ages” he said. You laughed and closed your eyes, both of you falling asleep to the sound of breathing. ————————————————–––————------------------------------------------ Note: sorry for any typos guys, I’ll have part eight up in a couple days! Send in requests and idea for what happens next! I don’t know if I want to follow the tv storyline completely but I don’t wanna go way off course. Anyway I hope you enjoyed!!

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Stuck in a damn bed.

What -- Daryl's bedbound and stuck that way recovering for longer than he wants. He's not a fan.

When -- after supper following the chapter That's it. In the show, it is in season 2 following the events of Chupacabra. Note that the Slowpoke Series is canon-compliant, but you'll notice a more realistic recovery time has been portrayed than was able to be shown the TV series.

Relationships -- slow burning Reader x Daryl, but Carol's season 2 crush is coming out.

TWs -- some language and unexpected familial abuse

Pronouns -- she/her

How long is it? -- there hasn't been a new chapter in over a month, y'all...

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

There's a part in the story with abuse by a family member (domestic violence). It's not reader being beaten in the way one might imagine abuse, but it's still abuse.

If you're being hurt by a loved one irl, they are doing something bad to you. Abuse is not earned or deserved. You are worthy of being safe and unhurt.

For help getting safe, you can call the Domestic Violence Hotline (USA) at 800-799-7233, chat online, or text START to 88788.

-------------------------

Day 1 of being stuck in a damn bed

later

-------------------------

Carol brought him supper. Eggs and field greens with crackers and beans. She’d brought breakfast and lunch to him, too. Stayed this time, though.

She ate mostly in silence with him but told him about the day. When she was done eating, she went back to mending a torn shirt she’d brought with.

Sophia wasn’t brought back today.

The whole truckload of these asshats that he’s been sticking with for way too long and for who-knows-why — couldn’t find that woman’s little girl after an entire day of searching the grid he slashed in half? Goddamned bullshit.

Yet, when two of those 'asshats,' Y/N and Patricia, came in to bring him a nighttime dose of painkillers and do another exam, he couldn’t find the words to ask Y/N anything about it. He didn’t feel all pissed and upset anymore, either.

Couldn’t make eye contact much with her just yet, granted. Still felt all stupid nervous.

Ain’t nothing he could do about it for now, his soul got stripped bare with Y/N’s yesterday. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t think of Y/N as stupid. Or Carol, that lady wasn’t stupid.

Hell, maybe no one in his group was, maybe it was just that he was heartbroke about that poor lost girl and in way too much pain.

Y/N was honest and spoke plainly about the situation, which was a welcome relief from how others were getting closed-lipped about it. “Today was so damned disappointing,” she muttered. “Twelve of us took turns goin’ out in teams, man, scoured the grid you narrowed down. Then we went beyond it when we still didn’t find…” After a few moments, she sat up straighter, adjusting the sling on her injured side. “Tomorrow’s the day, then.”

Well, since they’re changing up the search area tomorrow, maybe it’s true. And, maybe Daryl will stop complaining about others and will stop being a pussy and be able to actually get up and walk tomorrow, help out by his damned self and bring back their the girl.

Except that when he implied as much, Patricia shot it down. “We can’t force you, but—”

“Sure as shit can’t,” he yipped back.

At hearing Y/N’s huff, he turned just in time to catch her licking her teeth in annoyance. Her eyebrows were raised and her stare was enough to make his heart pound, loudly.

“You won’t make it far without needin’ to be helped back, if you can get up and walk around normally in the first place,” Patricia cautioned. “Give yourself a few days.”

Yeah, so, Sophia didn’t have a few days. “I’m fine.”

“We just want you to heal,” Carol quietly spoke.

Before he could finish yipping another comeback, Patricia sighed, then surprised him by saying, “Alright. We’ll leave the room so you can get dressed. Clothes are over there.”

Y/N frowned. “Ma’am?”

The lady gently held up a hand in response.

It was a test, plain as day. Which is why before them three had even left the room, Daryl had grit his teeth and held the bedsheets across his shoulder to keep himself covered as he pushed through the pain in order to sit upright all the way.

Courtesy of Y/N, his button-down shirt was tossed to him before she scooted out of the room, and Daryl was wincing and biting back groans as he worked it on for at least three minutes. He thanked his lucky stars it was a button-down and not a t-shirt, or he wouldn’t have been able to put it on.

He should’ve just thrown in the towel right then and accepted defeat, but he had too much to prove.

And when if he admitted it was too much for him…even if he didn't look like a Q-tip, wearing a damn pair of pants while it happened was the bare minimum that could make it bearable.

But he really should’ve thrown that towel in. It took accidentally hissing out a cuss when he tried to be tough as he swung his leg off the bed for him to start thinking he was being a jackass. It took him swallowing a whimper, chewing on his lip all the while, when he stood and had to untangle the bedsheets from his foot for him to doubt he could even get the pants on.

But being stubborn as a jackass had its perks: he gripped the bed frame to help him walk and got to his clothes without knocking anything over. He also worked out that sitting to put the pants on was better because he had to bend less if he was seated.

By the time he’d gotten them plus his socks and shoes on, he was sweaty and had the shakes, he’d also needed to sit awhile before he got the balls to stand up again and hobble his way to the door.

But he made it. Choking down his pride and his groans of discomfort, he made it to the door and pulled it open.

Patricia was waiting on the chair around the corner in the living room, quietly talking with Y/N while pointing at something in a giant, red book.

“Maybe I do need that few days,” he surrendered. Didn’t come out as tough as he’d intended.

Tell you what, though, that twangy blonde woman was one heck of a lady. “Let’s get you some fresh air while you’re up, does that sound good?” she offered. “The porch is only a few steps away.”

-------------------------

You

-------------------------

“Oh, Glenn.” You flop against the RV’s table and end up staring at the ding in the cabinet opposite you. You just left the front porch after Patricia helped Daryl walk there to get a breather, only to find out not 30 seconds after entering the RV that Glenn spilled the news about Lori to Dale.

Instead of Glenn, Dale responds, “Kiddo, my lips are sealed,” but you’re busy trying to sort out how to keep Shane from finding out for a little while longer if already the news is getting out, and not from Lori or you.

You love Glenn to death, but oh my gosh, he is not good at secrets. You didn’t even know he’d known, you only just now drew the conclusion when you made the connection; that that was the thing on Lori’s drugstore list that Glenn was being all secretive about, the pregnancy test.

Right now, you need to stomp down the fears leaping around your dumb little brain because you cannot make this seem dramatic, or it will point to there being a problem with Lori being pregnant — which there isn’t, a new baby is such happy news you could scream, it’s just that there’s the possibility of — with your brother and — ugh, you need to go on a walk or kick something! And Dale and Glenn won’t/can’t know why you’re so upset or it will be even worse.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew, or I would’ve talked about it with you instead of Dale so I wouldn’t explode! Secrets aren’t cool, dude.”

“Seein' as you didn't mention the pregnancy tests, I'd say secrets have their place,” you test.

“Not really. They make things complicated and people get hurt.”

You sneer while letting out a huff, and Dale puts his two cents in.

“I’m inclined to agree with Glenn here.” He’s apologetic when he calmly next points out, “Secrets are an omission of the truth.”

Here you are, gleefully sitting on the secret that Maggie admitted to you that she really likes Glenn. Not-so-gleefully sitting on the secret that the baby may biologically be your brother's, too. Ain't like you're about to spill or you'll burst.

In your mind, you take the simmering tea kettle off the burner so it won’t start to sing. “There are good secrets and bad secrets. And most people wait a few to tell others about pregnancies, y’all,” you state, and then make an executive decision to share something truthful that’s maybe not your place to do so, but you need to save face for Lori’s sake, now. “Lori’s had a few losses, it’s not wrong to imagine the new one might won’t make it long.”

Dale and Glenn both react similarly: they open their mouth and raise their heads slightly, then bow them. Good.

Scratching his neck, Glenn apologizes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“If she loses this one, too, those who know will grieve with her, then, simple as.” You’re satisfied and confident that you’ve saved face for Lori and your brother and Rick.

Except for how Dale peers at you. It reminds you of the gentle way one might look at a preschooler who is nervously trying to cover up the fact that they peed their pants.

One hand on your shoulder, he stops peering all knowingly and strokes his beard. “Irma miscarried, too. Our only one, none came after that,” he shares. Slowly, he sits at the spot by the RV’s right window. “We usually told people we stopped trying, which isn’t not the truth, I suppose. She and I simply stopped being, uh, ‘intentional’ about trying to conceive,” he explains.

“I’m sorry they died,” you tell Dale quietly. “Did you give ’em a name? My Ma lost one after Shane, she named them.”

“Believe it or not,” he says, hesitating before breaking into a smile and chuckling. “We were thinking about ‘Glenn’ for both a boy and girl name.”

Glenn’s cheeks turn purply-red like a beet. “Wait, seriously?”

Dale shrugs and nods.

“Y/N, no wonder I’m his favorite!”

After you play-pout, you notice, “Hold up: ‘Glenn’ and ‘Dale.’ Both are—”

“— Yes,” Dale finishes, turning pink while he laughs to himself and rubs his fingers over his wedding band. “The word ‘dale’ is from the Old English for ‘valley.’ And ‘glen’ is from the, ah, Scottish, the Scots Gaelic for ‘a valley formed by a river.’ My Irma liked the wordplay.”

-------------------------

Day 2 of being stuck in a damn bed

-------------------------

“You must be bored as hell in here, man. Concussion protocol stinks.”

T-Dog had just knocked and brought in the boombox that had been used a few times back at the quarry camp. He’d placed it next to Daryl on the bed, said he was here to help, then told him, “You saved my life with those meds, Daryl. And Carl’s.”

Daryl laid there like an awkward slug, he still felt off. Patricia was right, he really did get a good whack to the head. And...whole body.

He also didn’t expect a declaration like that. Not that it was a bad thing. He’d grown to have a lot of respect for T-Dog. Real decent guy. Maybe they were friends, too? He hoped so, he wanted that. And Daryl understood that him and his brother had been…he knew they was wrong, about how they’d been to T-Dog.

“No TV allowed.” T-Dog started to go on, narrating to himself, “Ain’t like that’s a problem right now. But also no reading, no busywork,” he said louder, “no getting up and moving much for the first couple days — I don’t envy you, brother. But listening to music, that they usually let you do so long as it’s quiet. You know what’s funny, though? There’s a separate, what do you call it, uh— ‘school of thought’ out there that says concussed people should be getting theyselves back to normal right from the get-go.”

The front door to the house opened again. Instead of footsteps going down the hall, there was another knock at Daryl’s door.

Before Y/N could finish her long-ass knocking pattern, Daryl called, “Just open it, s’fine.”

The knob turned and there she was, holding out a cassette tape with a plug hanging off it. “Found it. I’d forgot we’d moved it from Carol’s car. Jimmy borrowed it on the way to gun practice yesterday, left it in his dad’s truck.”

“You went without it all last night? I would’ve borrowed it, Y/N,” T-Dog razzed, “It’s been near a week since I listened to music, gonna turn into a Puritan at this rate.”

She giggled. “I fell asleep around 7:30 yesterday, man, I was out.”

“Yeah, Dale was worried that your brother pushed you too hard at that little fighting lesson y’all did.”

Making a little huh?, she pressed her lips together in what looked like a confused pout. “He was going easy. Oh — if he sounded like an asshole, that’s his way. Usually when you gotta defend yourself, there’s chaos and a lot of, um, of emotion. So, he riles you up, keeps pushin’ your buttons, so that you’ll learn to separate from the emotion and focus. Specifically, he’s tryin’ to help me not react,” she slumped as she said, “angrily. Anger makes you stupid.”

“Whatever you say, little sister. Just don’t go overdoin’ it, hear? You tend to overdo.”

With a teeny huff, she twisted her mouth and nodded.

“Speaking of, how long will you need to have your upper arm tied to your torso there?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “A few more days.”

“Alright, I’ll stop naggin’ you. How about: can I please get dibs on the mp3 the first night this guy can get out of bed? Pretty please?”

Mouth still twisted, it turned into a lopsided grin. “Deal.”

“Thank you much. Now,” he rubbed his hands together. “I do gotta ask, what music did the farm boy leave it on?”

“Hmm…” Y/N pressed the button on the side of the little music player to turn it on. Click, click, click. “Ah, Mumford & Sons. Do you know them? They’re that new band who makes bouncy banjo songs, got the raspy-voiced singer?”

“‘Bouncy banjo songs with a raspy-voiced singer,’” T-Dog chuckled. “I know them. Alright, man,” he said, turning to Daryl. “The batteries in the boombox should have plenty of juice left. You got the mp3 player to hook up to it, just use the tape deck converter. There’s a handful of CDs, too, and some cassettes.” He then made a little ha, and said, “Look like one of these is a book on tape that Dale got from the library. Shit, this was due like a month before the outbreaks, look at the date on here!”

“That’s a lotta late fees.”

“Let’s hope they waive ’em.”

This back and forth between the two of them was serving as Daryl’s minor entertainment for the afternoon. What serves as entertainment when you're stuck in a damn bed...

“D’you wonder if it’s as bad as The Case of the Missing Man?” Y/N droned.

“Oh, did you finish it, Y/N?”

“No. I tried two nights ago when I camped out in here. Couldn’t get passed chapter 4.”

“Surprised you ain’t reading it to this guy,” he told her. “Seein’ as you’re spending all that time in here, anyway.”

This was when Daryl got annoyed and uncomfortable again, there was something about the way T-Dog said it.

He didn’t think he felt (therefore looked) all nervous around Y/N anymore, that was all done, just a one-off. So why did it sound like T-Dog was teasing?

“Daryl’s suffered enough,” Y/N answered, and Daryl didn’t have time to catch her expression before she continued, “Miss Patricia’s certain he’s got a broken rib and maybe clavicle. So there’s the concussion, the ripped side by his rib, the collarbone, the stiff neck, then all the bruises, the abrasions, and that bullet graze — oh, sh — I just broke HIPAA!” she blurted out. “Ain’t never done that before, just blabbed about—that’s so—oh my g—th-that’s—Daryl, I’m so sorry!”

All Daryl could do was snort and ignore the sudden tug in the middle of his chest toward her direction. “Gonna sue your ass,” he deadpanned. Such a square.

“For real, though,” T-Dog spoke. “I still can’t believe you made your way back alive after all you went through, man. Yesterday, I joined Rick, we went to where you fell — Daryl, you should be dead. The way I see it, God’s got plans for you, brother. Just let Him do His thing.”

Awkward about what to say or how to react, Daryl responded with what was on his mind for most of the day. “Any signs out there today?”

Neither of them answered at first, meaning they didn’t find shit.

“I thought Rick talked to you already,” Y/N mumbled.

T-Dog answered better. “We’re searching a new area tomorrow, branching out.”

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

Having music was saving him from going completely nuts. The little music player thing seemed to have something for just about everybody on it, and the CDs were fine, too. He even popped in the book on tape.

Sent him right to sleep.

Dale and Carol came visiting with supper. Carol had eaten every meal with him for the past two days. It made him a little nervous, to be plain. The way she paid attention seemed less like pity or friendship and more like something more, which he didn’t want and didn’t have to offer.

But he liked how Carol was quiet and gentle, thoughtful, and had a dry sense of humor every so often (when she let it out around him, that is).

The grub was eggs and field greens again, but this time there was also rice. Granted, no meat again, but someone must have found onion grass, because it smelled real tasty. If he cared, he would’ve considered to maybe not wolf it down as fast as he did, given that Carol and Dale were in there.

Then came his friend’s signature knocking again.

He was relieved to have felt nothing at Y/N's arrival; no nervousness, no warm cheeks. Everything was back to normal.

-------------------------

Day 3 of being stuck in a damn bed

-------------------------

“After Andy told her there was still a chance, she stopped her and said she didn’t really need to hear it anymore,” Y/N told him quietly. Arms crossed and hood up, she was resting back on the chair in the corner of the room, legs propped against the end of the bed. “I wanted you to hear it from me so if Carol said anything, it wouldn’t be knockin’ you out of left field.”

Y/N’d gone with her brother, Andrea, and Carol to check the spot on the highway where they’d set up a mini shelter for Sophia however many days ago all that shit went down. A few of the group had gone back every day, twice a day.

And now Carol was losing hope or just plain lost it.

For real, how was it that her kid was still goddamned missing?

He and Y/N found a sign at that house, then another at the other house, then he’d found her doll—how far would Sophia have fucking gone?

Her body ain’t been found yet, neither, which meant she had to be out there somewhere.

“Even Shane tried to be optimistic for her. After hearin’ her say to Andrea how she didn’t want to hear it no more, he tried to insist Sophia might could be fine, but she held out her hand so he’d stop.”

“Shane? Really?”

Shane wrote that little girl off as a goner, last Daryl knew. What changed?

Y/N gave a small, tired, very forced smile. “We had a good talk a few days ago. He knows he hasn’t been himself and he wants to do better.”

That’s good. The way her brother’s been acting has been driving screws through her, he knew that much.

“Still, your nine days to Sophia’s…” she trailed off, and when she did, he saw it in her face. Heard it in her voice when she finished her thought. “This is either her day 7 or 8 out there, I-I can’t think right now.”

Yup. She was also losing hope or plain lost it.

The feeling of helplessness jumpstarted and rammed him in the belly.

He swore. “C’mon, Y/N. You, too?”

“Dude,” she hesitated, “understanding the possibility she’s dead ain’t wrong.”

Shut up.

“It’s, it’s a high statistical likelihood,” was her next bullshit excuse. “From day one it’s been on the tabl—”

“—No wonder she ain’t been found yet,” he snarled, interrupting her. “None of y’all shitheads actually think that little girl’s out there!”

The pain from his broken rib seared like a hot poker when he raised his voice, but as he said it, he believed every word of it and liked how it struck home.

But only as he said it.

Because one look in his friend’s eyes afterward, wet and turning red, and he felt the invisible knee to the nards and stomach and knew he’d just been a massive asshole.

Y/N giving him the middle finger was what Patricia saw after she’d knocked on the door and come in.

“What’s goin’ on?” she asked the pair of them.

Y/N wiped an eye and told her honestly, “An argument about Sophia,” before laying this out to Daryl: “Not one of us doubts she’s out there.”

Regretful as he was for being an asshole, he still pushed back, “Yeah, all y’all just think she’s dead anyway, so why bother.”

“You mangy h—” she swallowed. Licked her teeth. “Stayin’ hopeful is one thing,” she started, pointing her finger at him while clear-as-day working to not raise her voice. “But can you honestly say to us that you wasn’t also prepared to find our girl dead every time you was out there?”

Patricia held up a hand and cleared her throat. “I’m here to check your bandages, Daryl. Y/N.”

Y/N apologized to Patricia and exited the room quietly.

Patricia did her thing.

And Daryl, stuck in a damn bed, same as he’d been for three days now, lay there feeling helpless, worthless, unwanted, and now like a massive asshole, and he was goddamned angry about it.

He really wanted to kick something, chug a beer, or cry. And have a smoke. Carol’d brought him his pack, he’d managed to get a good one in through the open window earlier.

“These should be able to come off in a few days,” Patricia murmured, re-wrapping his head. “And the graze is healing nicely. We still need to be cautious about your concussion and that side-wound of yours, hence you bein’ stuck in here for awhile yet.” The lady shifted her weight to her other leg and set her hand on her side. “How do the collarbone and ribs feel?”

“Fine.”

Arching one eyebrow at him, she took one arm and did some gentle movements, then the same with the other arm.

“Those areas are already better than they were the first day, so there’s something. And the rib fracture, unless it’s just a real nasty bruise, is likely hairline, which is light years better than the alternative. Remember to breathe deep through your belly to get full breaths in, don’t expand your lungs wide, do it through your belly. And keep up the good work avoidin’ laying on your left side like you have been. Once you’re up and out, you’ll have to keep things slow so they’ll heal good.”

“How slow?”

She exhaled through her nose and spoke his name. “I need to tell you, it’s by the skin of my teeth that I’ve been convincing Hersh that you and the little boy still need carin’ for. Please work with me on this. Agree to take it slow.”

Nope. He couldn’t just do nothing, Sophia was missing! Why did everybody keep forgetting that part? “He can kick me out all he wants, I don’t give a shit — that little girl ain’t gonna get found in one piece if I keep things slow.”

“There are 9 or 10 people searching for her on the regular, Daryl. You’re gonna heal badly, permanently, if you don’t go slow,” she warned. “You and your friend both need to learn to do what your bodies need.” She paused. Smirked for half a second before tucking it away. “That came out wrong. What I meant is that y’all need rest, and not aggravate what’s gone wrong and make it worse.”

Before leaving the room, she turned back toward him. “It’s that Hershel still wants y’all not just out, off his land. Clean off.” She held up a hand as if she didn’t know what to do next. “I don’t think that’s right, and I don’t want it. And I can see how many of your group want to stay, are helpin’ out. Y’all are good people. So please, mind your manners and that mouth around Hershel, Daryl. It’s you and Y/N’s brother that are causin’ him the most concern, and ultimately, it’s gonna be Hershel’s decision.”

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

Carol brought him supper, again. The meal was quiet, until small footsteps and a knock along with “Mr. Dixon?” sounded outside the door.

It was Carl, asking if he could eat dinner with him. “And I brought you one of my comic books. I figured I could show you the pictures and read to you the words. They’re saying you can’t read right now. That stinks. I get to read and walk around a little, at least, I just can’t move a lot.”

Daryl waved him and his folks in, felt a brief moment of pride that the antibiotics he’d supplied had saved the kid’s and T-Dog’s life, then he asked Carl when he’d be able to run around.

“Mr. Greene is hoping I can do stuff like normal soon. I still get really tired when I move. But I wanna be strong if Sophia needs me, so I’m doing what he says is best.”

Did Y/N or Patricia put him up to this?

“Do you still think she could be okay? I know that a lot of our people are losing hope, but I still think she could be okay. Dad does, too, and Mom, and Y/N.”

Daryl thought to himself how he’d go through everything he had gone through for Sophia again for that kid, gladly. “‘Course I think she’s okay. Prolly sleeping in a queen-sized bed wherever she’s stayin’.

Rick chatted to him in between bites of scrambled egg. “Based on how the search goes tomorrow, we’ll be altering the grid again.” He asked Daryl his opinion on where would be smartest to focus the search efforts in the new area. (It was upstream, obviously. And Daryl wasn’t used to his ideas being taken seriously, it was a nice change.)

He kept glancing at Carol as the conversation went on. She’d gotten all wet-eyed when Carl first spoke up about wanting to be strong for Sophia. Stayed quiet when Rick talked.

But by the end, she didn’t seem so lost anymore.

He watched from the side as she thumbed her cross necklace, kissed it—then caught him watching and gave him a tiny smile.

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

He’d hobbled to the window to have another smoke. Getting in and out of bed still hurt, ain’t that bull?

It was just about dark, there was only a blurry strip of orange left at the very bottom of the horizon.

Daryl looked out at the land. Saw the campfire, saw Andrea on top of the RV.

T-Dog noticed him from his spot by a cluster of trees where he was having a smoke, too, and he waved once to Daryl before turning around to resume his own cigarette break in privacy.

Midway through a particularly deep drag (a tricky thing to do when inhaling deeply hurts because you got a cracked rib), there was some giggling outside his door in the hall to the front.

The dread that he was gonna get caught and kicked out for smoking sent a jolt into his veins. Not sure why he cared so much all the sudden.

He’d already put out his cigarette against the outside of the windowsill when the familiar sound of her laughter registered in his ears, so his muscles stopped feeling so tense.

Leaning on the sill, he then watched her and Glenn just about torpedo down the porch stairs and toward a field as if they were rac—no, wait, they actually were racing. He definitely didn’t snort to himself about it then wince because snorting hurt. The short-haired chick, Baby Spice, and the farm boy spilled onto the porch to watch—nope, scratch that, they were joining in.

Where were they even g…okay, to some old tree stump.

Y/N’d mentioned how Daryl was only 6 or 7 years older than them, but sometimes it felt like a hell of a lot more. Her and Glenn together, especially, together they acted like they was 12-year-olds.

After Daryl saw what was maybe a tie take place, he felt creepy just, ahem, staring at them from the window. So, he shut the screen back down and gimped his sore-ass self to the bed again.

-------------------------

Day 4 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

-------------------------

“Lore? How about you sit a minute?” She looks like she’s either going to pass our or throw up, so you don’t know whether to guide her to a seat or hold her hair back.

“It’s the, um—” she grabs a lock of her hair and folds it over her nose, breathing in slowly while walking in the opposite direction of the campfire. “What is that meat?”

“Rabbit.”

Through her nausea, she’s still encouraging enough to offer a genuine “Well done!” even as she tries to tamp down her gag reflex.

Yeah, Shane and you set up snares yesterday, and today one worked.

You point to the pine grove. “I finally set up my hammock over there. Let’s — it’s just, you look like you need to lay down.”

“I will, I just have to talk to Daryl first, he’s been, um—” she pauses again to exhale slowly. Her color is nonexistent right now. “He’s been smoking outside his window, and, and I’m worried that if Hershel sees—” She suddenly bursts into tears, and that makes her gag more.

The biggest problem right now is that Mr. Greene still wants your group off his land once Carl and Daryl aren’t bedbound.

That Daryl went through his awful accident is a blessing in disguise; it’s buying you all time.

Maggie is openly upset with her dad about it. Miss Patricia and her boy don’t agree, either.

You’re mad at the man, too, like — you get that your group is threatening simply by the fact that there are more of you and you’re armed — but what about your conduct here has been threatening? Minus the mishap with Andrea almost killing Daryl and how Shane has been a little dominant, you’re all helping out, keeping the campsite clean, staying quiet, respecting the property.

Like, yes, y’all killed a walker that had sprouted legit gills because he it was trapped in one of their wells, but the guy was dead. Quite literally a corpse, not even a "he" anymore; it, the corpse, was usurped by a virus. His soul had moved on.

Mr. Greene is a faithful dude, he’s supposed to be a man of God, so why would he kick…never mind, he’s scared for his family, you get it, you get it.

People have done atrocious things to each other since it all went down, no one can deny that.

Well, there’s still hope. He can and will change his mind. Carl, Lori, and new baby need a safe place.

Happily, the awkwardness of trying to sit side-by-side in the hammock makes both you and Lori crack up. You stop awfulizing in your head, and she seems calmer, too.

“What was it you were going to talk to Daryl about again?” you ask.

“He’s been smoking out of his window. I picked up the butts when I saw them. We can’t give Hershel any more reasons to not want us here. He’ll see it as disrespecting his home, his land…” Her voice goes up, and she’s back to crying. So far, you and Glenn (and Dale, just don’t tell Lori that Glenn told him!) are the only ones who know about the new one she’s got in there.

“Y/N, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this — I can’t, I can’t…”

“You already are, mama,” you whisper softly. “Lore, I’ll do whatever it is you and baby need, Ricky will, too. Come hell or high water, Lori, we will do what it takes.”

“If it even lasts that long.” She wipes her eyes and turns her head away “How long will it last, you think? Truly? And if I don’t lose this one, too, how long until one of those things catches them, rips them apart?”

“You can’t think that way.”

“We have to think that way! My son was shot, he nearly died and he, he, he can’t even walk around for more than 10 minutes without getting exhausted. And Sophia?”

You close your eyes. You know; Carol’s been sharing your tent.

“—What are the chances Sophia is alive? Truly?” she challenges. You stay quiet.

Sophia is, most likely, not alive anymore. You’ll search until she’s found for as long as it takes, but it will likely be her body that is found.

“Carol understands it, too, honey, she told me yesterday, said it again today, and I cannot imagine she hasn’t told you, too, as she cries herself to sleep. And, and even if that sweet, innocent girl is still alive, what are the chances she wasn’t kidnapped and God knows what else?"

She's out of breath. "Our families, friends — they died or were killed, and are now dead. Almost everyone we knew, Y/N. So how can you honestly tell me she,” and Lori points to her stomach, “will have a happy life? That my baby will have any semblance of a normal, safe life! Or that, that, that she’ll even survive long enough to make it out of diapers when the only way she will be able to tell someone that something is wrong is by crying, and putting herself and everyone else at risk!”

When she finally stops, she lowers her head to her knees and pulls at her hair, sobbing.

There are ideas and viewpoints floating around your head as something to respond with or comfort with, but nothing is coming together enough yet. Having been raised with fosters, you know without doubt life is never predictable and safe, even with the best-laid plans. Most importantly, you learned that no one’s life, absolutely no one’s life, is ever worthless or meaningless.

But the major thing that keeps repeating in your head is how Lori very clearly just called the new one “she.”

Before you can put that to words, Lori stumbles out of the hammock, stumbles and few yards forward, kneels, and gets sick.

Wiping your own tears, you kneel beside her, hold her hair back, and lightly massage her neck.

She first apologizes, then quickly spirals into putting herself down and panicking about how-awful-she-is-but-she-can’t-but-she-can’t, so you figure it’s a good time to interrupt.

“So. You thinkin’ you’ve got a girl in there?”

-------------------------

Him

-------------------------

“Did he read you the one where Science Dog becomes real?”

Because Carl did happen to read him that comic book, Daryl knew what that sentence meant. “Yeah.”

“That’s a fun episode! Oh, um, ‘issue,’ whatever the word is,” Y/N self-corrected. “Ain’t it just so— ‘miracle’ barely describes how well Carl is doin’.” She shifted in her spot and used her good arm to massage her bad side. “Hey, did Ricky mentioned how Carol was today?”

He shook his head. Y/N grinned.

“She was out first thing, came back last. She was vocal, outspoken about the search and where to go. Probably why she was about to fall out when she got back.” A nod. “It was really good, she didn’t seem so broken today.”

Daryl grunted. “Good. Should be.” He shifted on the mattress and tried to get comfortable again. Ouch.

“Hey, was you—um, were you—smokin’ out your window last night?” She asked the second part under her breath as if it were a big secret.

“Maybe.” Is my square gonna preach about smoking?

She nodded slowly and went to take another bite of food, but paused and lowered her fork. “Lori asked me to ask you. She, um, would’ve come herself, but she’s a mite sick. When you have a smoke, please tuck the butt in a tissue? Lori cleaned ’em up earlier when she saw them outside your window.”

“Why? Is Hershel one of them super-Baptists?”

“Daryl,” she murmured. “Please. We all gotta be on our best behavior so we don’t get kicked out as soon as you and Carl are better. He already wants us gone, you two being injured has been our savin’ grace. If, if Mr. Greene’s sees smoke butts, it might will be seen as another strike. Even as someone who smokes, do you like seein’ butts on the ground?”

He chewed. Swallowed. Grunted, “I’ll put ’em in a tissue.” After piling in another forkful, he hummed in appreciation and asked, “Who bagged the rabbit?” Been about a week since any meat.

“A snare got one. We cracked open one of them Foxfire books and set some up.” Y/N was sad about the rabbit, Daryl could tell. “Shane remembered most of the steps from Boy Scouts,” she detailed.

“He clean it, too?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t cook tonight, too, did he?”

Carol usually made meals, but she’d hit the sack early. He’d last seen her at lunchtime (and Carol probably would have known how to cook rabbit meat a little better)

Y/N answered him with her mouth full. “He actually did, Shane and me.”

“No wonder it’s nasty.”

She made a psht in response, and then right as Daryl was taking a particularly big bite, chirped, “Then starve.”

He snarfed.

It hurt, but he hadn’t burst into a laugh like that in a while.

And in truth, he was really enjoying the food.

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

Another dream that he didn’t want hit him from out of nowhere, the same way Andrea’s bullet had.

Except, he didn’t feel disappointed when he woke up, he felt freaked out.

In the dream this time, Carol was kneeling on his bed, crying and reading the comic book. He didn’t know what to do and he couldn’t move. Then Carol kissed his cheek and asked him “Is this the one where Sophia becomes real again?”

When he woke up, he clawed his way to the window to have another smoke.

It took a lot in him to not holler out with a loud-ass cuss when he stubbed his toes on the dresser. It accidentally hurt his broken ribs and collarbone while trying to not fall over as a result. Lots of hushed cusses.

-------------------------

Day...um…shit, right: Day 5 of being stuck in a damn bed

-------------------------

Day 5 for him. Meaning it was either day 9 or 10 for Sophia.

Day 9 was the day he’d been hoping to not get to. And if it was actually day 10 for her…

It didn't matter the date, what he’d said about Sophia was still true. She was a smart kid, there are just a hell of a lot of hiding places where she could be holed up in. Farmhouses with open doors or windows, barns, empty businesses and buildings, even cars. As for food and water, wasn’t like there weren’t a creek, orchards and overrun gardens for miles around.

Here he was, still stuck in a damned bed while the twangy blonde lady waved that stupid, skinny flashlight in his eyes for the twentieth damned time!

Patricia clicked her tongue. “I get that cabin fever can make anybody get short, but irritability is one of them things that can pop up or get worse after a concussion, Daryl, so I ain’t too sure whether or not this is a change for you.”

I’d be fine if Sophia was back! Everything would be, bitch! “I’d be better if I wasn’t stuck in here.”

She took a moment. “Let’s check your balance again, then.”

He exhaled through his teeth and was enraged to find himself suddenly about to cry.

“If you can walk without tilting, we’ll both know you’re good to go,” the lady continued. “My friend, I ain’t trying to humble you, I want to see if you’ve improved enough.”

So, Daryl held the blanket over himself as he got himself out of bed and slowly stepped down the hallway. He tried to walk normal, got a little dizzy doing it. Not too much, but…

He didn’t quite hold back the tears of frustration.

Patricia must’ve felt sorry for him again, because she walked him back to the room, had him put on long pants and a shirt, then escorted him out to the porch barefoot.

“We should ought’ve brought you out here more regularly these past few days. Fresh air and sunlight can do wonders. Sit here awhile, then we’ll try a around the house.”

Her using a ‘should ought’ve’ made him think of Y/N.

Within a minute, Dale in his little On Golden Pond fisherman hat and T-Dog with a towel over his forehead saw him from their perch on top of the RV, and raised hands to wave at Daryl.

From the far left, he heard Y/N’s laughter along with Glenn’s and what was probably Baby Spice and the short-haired chick Maggie and the farm boy Jimmy’s. He stood up and — damn it, still wobbly and sore — made his way to the side of the porch to see what they were doing.

They were kicking a ball around, squealing like schoolkids.

Carl was sitting on the same tree stump that the gaggle of them had raced to last night, cheering and razzing off and on.

Seeing just, like…innocent shit like this was nice.

But, standing up made Daryl tired, and he (again) felt creepy watching them, so he shuffled back to the little bench right as Patricia was coming back outside carrying two glasses of sweet tea.

“Your two friends and Maggie got back from their search, sad as you can get. Jimmy and Beth did their own check around the pastures and the perimeter again, too. Have every day since you took those falls.” She took a sip of her drink. “Seems this kickball or soccer match, whatever they’re doing, this was their way of cheerin’ themselves up. Looks like it’s working. So long as none of y’all get hurt again, I’m happy.”

When Patricia eventually suggested it was time to try a walk around the house, Daryl did his best.

His best was shit, he was still unstable on his feet and couldn't use his arms much or breathe too deeply without it smarting.

Patricia was upbeat about it. “You have maybe a day or two left with your bandages, anyhow, Daryl. Let’s get you back to a chair, you look like you’re fixing to topple over.”

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

A loud knock and a face he hadn’t seen since the first day he was laid out in there woke him from yet another nap. So many naps! He kept needing more sleep.

“Heard you was still in the hole another day or two. Figured you could use more music to keep you from goin’ too stir crazy.” Shane handed him a cassette with a homemade label.

“This one’s from back in the day when we needed to make our own tapes so we could listen to the good stuff. I know my sister’s mp3 got a ton on it, but this one’s special. No need to skip around or charge it or plug nothin’ in.” Shane offered a flick of his hand in goodbye. “Alright, man, take it easy. Rest up.”

“Wait, how was Carol today?” Daryl called to him before he left the room.

Shane turned. He still had a slight limp from when he hurt his ankle. “Hangin’ in there. Went a little hard today and yesterday, but she seems to be in a real good place, believe it or not. Ain’t lost all hope, but she’s accepting what happened, if you get me.”

Daryl was pretty sure he got him. “Accepting her kid is gone?”

Shane’s stare was hard and felt to Daryl like a challenge. “Yeah, man, accepting that her kid is gone. We’re still goin’ out every day in the hopes we’re wrong, don’t misjudge me. And I want to be wrong, Daryl, I really do.” He licked his teeth and brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “It ain’t rocket science. That little girl is, in all likelihood, dead. Has been for days, you get that, right?”

Daryl was good at glaring contests. “I get it.”

“Look. I’m not out to be the asshole. I just don’t want none of us gettin’ ourselves killed over this. You and my sister could’ve got bit doin’ what you did at that house one week back, and in the process, she ripped her side back open and injured her shoulder worse than it ever was. And you?” He shook his head. “You almost died, Daryl.”

“It was worth it, jackass,” is not what Daryl intended to say, but that’s what he said. Daryl wasn’t planning on saying anything, in fact, because he knew he’d likely blow his cool and risk Dr. Farmer hearing it, and apparently the old guy was ready to chuck them off his land ASAP.

Y/N’s brother bowed his head and rubbed his neck. Didn’t say nothing for a solid…he didn’t know, minute, maybe? Felt awkward as hell, tell you what.

“Listen, dude, I know we ain’t buddies and all that,” Shane told him. “To be real, I didn’t trust you at all, especially when Y/N started going off and learnin’ to hunt with you. I thought you were some white trash tweaker who’d try to feel her up or worse, so I tailed y’all, spied on y’all the first three times you took her out, ready with my shotgun.”

…What the hell was this?

“But I’ve grown to respect you, and what you just said right there told me all I need to know. You’re a decent guy, Daryl.” Another rub of his newly buzzed hair. “Tell you what, I’ll come by tomorrow after the search, tell you what we find and where we looked.”

-------------------------

Day 6 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

-------------------------

“Dude, you told him how you spied on us?”

“I was moved, Y/N, you should be proud of me,” Shane drawled, winking. “Said I’d tell him about the daily searches, so, today I did. Hey, and his balance was better today, might should be good to go the day after tomorrow. Oh,” he adds. “I lent him my mix tape as a peace offering, too.”

“Aw, romantic.”

He groans, and you twist a corner of your mouth in a tiny grin. “I’m just shocked he didn’t grunt back to you all intimidating with somethin’ like ‘I knew you was there, you was louder than a’…eh, I got nothing.”

Shane keeps the bit going, and does it pretty good, if you say so yourself! “‘Yeah, I knew you was there. Couldna been more damn obvious.’”

His copying of Daryl’s voice and mannerisms is so spot on that you crack up and clap your hands in delight.

Shane looks pleased. “That was a pretty good impression, just then, wasn’t it?”

“Alls you needed was to make it a ’lil more throaty, like a, like a, a grumpy tomcat,” you laugh.

He smiles, opening his mouth to make a funny comeback, then laughing instead. “I’ll have to practice.”

“Speakin’ of practice, can we call it?”

“Yeah, we can call it. Good work.”

Coo, practice is over. You’ve been having self-defense lessons every day the past few days, sometimes twice. Shane’s been wanted to restart teaching you ever since the incident with Ed Peletier seven-ish weeks ago. You could’ve called the sessions quits whenever, obviously, but it feels more satisfying when one’s instructor is satisfied and ends the lesson, right?

Also, Shane kinda needs that control over something — which sounds iffy, you know, you know.

But he’s been so much more like himself since the lessons started! And him instructing you in fighting is doing him good not only because it’s stroking his ego a little and shutting him up about his terrible Fort Benning idea. The lessons are helping offer him a sense of control and assuredness that he’s keeping his sister safe by helping her defend herself. That’s always been a thing for him. Call it a side-effect of having a beater in the house for the first several years of his life, maybe.

It’s a very fruitful side-effect, all things considered — today, stitches and achy shoulder combined, you bested him!

The only catch is that it…kinda involved his balls.

You still feel bad about it. It wasn’t you using practice-strength to simply get the upper hand and then stop, like practice is supposed to be. It was adrenaline/angry-at-and-his-egging-you-on strength. You fought dirty.

“Sorry again about whackin’ you below-the-belt.”

“No way, Y/N, don’t be,” he brushes off. “Don’t feel bad for doin’ what you’re supposed to do. Especially if it’s a man you need to fight off, which is why we’re doing this — you need to fight dirty. So,” he clears his throat, “if you can go for the giblets, go for ’em.” (Grandma Jean referred to genitals as ‘giblets.’) “That’s how you got the drop on me — and that’s what I wanted! You did good, got that?”

“Just — check tomorrow and, and the day after in case you got bruised testes, okay?”

“Don’t call them ‘testes’… weirdo…” he trails off and makes a face. Then, he stands and helps you up. “My boys are fine, I’m sure. Ankle’s hanging in there, too. How are you holdin’ up? Didn’t overdo it, right?”

“Nope, I feel good! And I’m so happy about tomorrow.”

His smile is polite, but not quite reaching his eyes. “Ready to attend Sunday dinner in the house tomorrow night?”

You press your hands together and make a little skip as you walk. “Do you think it means Mr. Greene’s comin’ around, too?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Wet blanket, much? “Grumpy we didn’t risk our necks to visit the jarheads at Fort Benning?”

“Y/N.”

“That was mean, sorry.” Your choice of phrasing was rude, that is, not the sentiment. Shane hadn’t mentioned the military base in a few days, so you’d hoped he’d dropped it. Places with the military, feds, even FEMA, those places had turned out badly, especially if you were a civilian. And you along with your Mama were wary of places like even before what happened to Atlanta.

Miles and miles away from the city as you were when it happened had given you a front-row seat to when it happened, when it got firebombed. It was like watching the Twin Towers collapse over again, expect this time it wasn’t on a TV screen, and the sounds of it happening in real time had been loud enough to reach you. The pops, the rumbling. Then there’s the memory of Carl’s face when he saw it all clear as day before you finally reacted, covered his ears and blocked his view.

This place, this farm, this is the safest place right now. It has good people, shelter, protection, space, food. Probably would be the safest place around for a long time if your brother group didn’t mess things up. Carl needs it, Lori and the new baby need this place.

And with the fact that your brother had been planning to leave the group, you’re worried sick that he’ll change his mind, split and leave you behind, or worse, get you all thrown off the land. If Shane didn’t take the property by force OH my gosh, why the fuck did you just think that, bitch? How could you think that about him? Stupid, stupid idiot girl!

Looking at your brother, you see him staring across the lawn to where Otis’ memorial lays. His thousand-yard stare is back. Poor Shaney. You look away so as to not be, you know, staring at him, but when he breathes out heavily after a few long moments, you turn to look.

His nose twitches before he blinks rapidly and shakes his head a little, rubs his buzz cut, and puts his hands on his belt.

“I know you don’t like the idea, but Fort Benning the smart decision,” your brother declares, doing that thing where he looks in too many directions. “The military is equipped, at least, and they’re trained how to handle things. It’s smart to seek that out.”

Whether it’s because you’re amped after being victorious at practice or because you’re freaked out after thinking something so cruel about your own brother (that he’d take over this place by force??), as you make your statement in response, you imagine it as you pulling the pin from a grenade and chucking it.

“Is that why the powers at be did what they did to Atlanta? Because they were so trained?” The pause you make, as you watch the words connect in Shane’s mind, is the time delay before the grenade’s fuse ignites and explodes. “Or maybe killing civilians or even their own was always a possibility in their eyes. The ends, of course, justifyin’ the means.”

He licks his teeth before running a hand over his mouth. “You’re really goin’ there, Y/N? Do not go there.”

But this has been festering too long. He needs to hear it and understand it. You love him. And he’s gonna have a whole lot else to deal with once Lori’s news gets out — it’s going to be messy. So this Fort Benning stuff has to go.

“But Shane, that would’ve been us with not just Mama, but Carl, Lori, and maybe even a comatose Rick if, if what happened—” your voice rises at the memory. “If what w-went on hadn’t happened, made us wait.”

If your mother hadn’t been killed, you two wouldn’t have found her dead and walking, which had revealed that she must have caught the illness before she died. And if you two didn’t find her dead and walking, you and Shane wouldn’t have quarantined, instead would’ve gotten Rick out of the hospital a day earlier and gone together with your mother and the Grimes to the city. Which means that she would’ve started showing symptoms on the road, and that the rest of you would’ve not only possibly caught it but would have possibly spread it.

Shane knows all of this, he knows it, which is why you only voiced a small part of it.

But instead of Shane standing before you with his hands on his hips…you begin to see the man you don’t recognize again. The one that’s been showing up more and more, the one that’s scary and coldly pragmatic. The one that seems like he’s about to lose control, he’s back. He’s standing where your brother was, and he’s very, very angry.

“Y/N, now, you listen good.” The man’s finger points straight at you and he gets too close to your face. When you step backward, he’s right on you. “We would’ve still been stuck outside the city limits, the wait to get in was over a day long.” With his finger, he jabs at your sternum, hard, and does it again with every hissed question.

“You remember that part?” — “The reason we were stuck in that line of cars that went on for miles?” — “Remember that?” —

You can’t think. You can’t move. The best you can manage is a stuttered “Sh-Shane—” because inside your head is nothing but white noise.

A strong, rough, sustained pinch on your collarbone and his yell of “—I asked: do you understand?” is the only reason you remember to nod as you stare at the ground and steady yourself from tripping backward.

“What happened in Atlanta was a shit show, an absolute shit show and what happened there was a disgrace, hard stop.” He spits, “but you know what? It don’t mean it was like that everywhere else—is that fair for me to reckon, uppity bitch?”

The insult doesn’t have time to sink in because he starts gesturing at his head, then yours, then his again, banging his hand against his head, then clapping his hand against your temple, hard, and now you can' think, he's too close, he’s too close, why is he so close, why does he keep hurting m— “Does that make sense, Y/N? Does that make sense to you?”

It’s not until he tugs you by your shirt and slowly shouts in your ear, “Y/N, I asked you a question: Does that make sense?” that you remember to nod again.

Your throat seizes up, so you swallow and hold your breath.

“Don’t bring up what happened with our mother again,” he orders, letting you go with a slight shove. “She was sick, we didn’t catch it, and we’d have been stuck outside that city either way.”

The man then leaves. You just stand there.

There’s no feeling of relief that he’s left you alone. Your hands are tingly, but you’re otherwise uncertain how you feel other than stupid and sick to your stomach. No, really, you might lose your supper.

You begin to walk in whatever direction, step by step, wiping the tears as they fall and trying to ignore the loud refrain in your head of stupid, stupid girl that interplays with all the noise of what did you do and why didn’t you and why did he and why would he and how could he as well a louder WHO WAS THAT?

Because it sure as hell wasn’t Shane. It can’t have been Shane, Shane’s not that.

-------------------------

Him

-------------------------

The short-haired chick came into his room looking all rattled and asking if Y/N was in there. Woke him up from a nap (so many damn naps), too, what the hell?

He quietly croaked back,“Does it look like she’s in here?” and closed his eyes to try and get back to sleeping.

“I figured she…”

Whatever it was Maggie figured, she didn’t say nothing more, she mumbled “sorry,” and closed the door again.

Was…was everything okay?

-------------------------

You

-------------------------

Footsteps and light panting sound behind you, bringing you back down to earth.

Before dread can kick in at full blast, you recognize who’s behind you even before you hear his voice calling your name, and it is a relief to know he’s there. He’ll know how to fix this. He’ll know what to do.

But what if he saw? What if he’s not the only one?

A water cooler of shame gets dumped over your head like you’ve just failed big at something. Your throat tightens again.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl.

Not turning your head much because your eyes are probably red, you at least control the shake in your voice. “H-Hi, Mr. Horvath, what’s up?”

“Kiddo. What just happened?”

“What do you mean?” Might as well stall when you don’t know how to say it. Maybe Dale only saw Shane looking huffy, maybe he didn’t see or hear any of what just happened and maybe, just maybe, you’re being overly dramatic about what happened. He's your brother, siblings sometimes smack each other around a little, it's not like he punched you. See, that would've been bad...

And it’s just as well you don’t know what to say back, because after hearing a door clack open then shut, you peek to see not only Dale standing before you, but Margaret, jogging from the back of the house in your direction?

She calls your name — and is holding the book you’d lent to Jimmy! Thank God, honest fodder to stall from answering Dale.

“Did Jimmy finish it?” you ask lightly.

But Maggie looks unsettled. “I grabbed this on my way downstairs as an excuse when I saw what was happenin’.”

Oh, no. Y/N, you stupid, stupid girl.

“What did I just see your brother doing?”

Stupid, stupid girl.

------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------

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[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Seventeen

After everyone was finished eating and everything was cleaned up Jenner showed us the rest of the living area. “Most of the facility is powered down including housing so you’ll have to make do here,” he said as we walked down yet another hallway. Offices lined each side of the hall. “The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like. There’s a rec room down the hall that you kids might enjoy. Just don’t plug in the video games, okay? Or anything that draws power. The same applies—if you shower, go easy on the hot water.” That made everyone perk up; the fact that there was hot water.

I was walking behind everyone and watched them all pick a room. My head was a little fuzzy from the alcohol but not enough to not know what I was doing. Shane's head popped out of one of the doors when I walked by. “You are more than welcome to share a room with me,” he slurred, smiling. My face scrunched up in disgust and walked by him, picking up my pace, and slipping into a room at the end of the hall. I threw my bag on the floor beside the couch and sat down with a loud sigh. I looked down at my skin, covered in sweat and dirt letting out a bigger sigh. “May as well take advantage of that hot water.” I began to untie my shoes and kicked them off along with my socks. I shed clothing as I walked to the small bathroom on the other side of the room, dropping them into a pile.

I walked to the shower and turned it on, holding my hand under the water. To my delight, the water got hot fast. I stepped under the water, turning around, closing my eyes, and tilting my head back. The hot water felt so relaxing as it loosened my muscles. The bathroom started to steam up, and I turned around to find soap and shampoo. I grabbed the soap and started to wash my body, watching as the dirt and dried blood washed down the drain. Next was my hair, I took my time with washing it. It would probably be a while before I got to have a hot shower again. They even have new razors in the bathroom, so I took care to shave while I was at it. I knew Jenner said to take it easy on the hot water, but it felt too good.

“Fuck! Shit!” I jumped at the sudden voice behind me and spun around. “What the hell?! You scared the fuck out of me, Daryl!” He was standing there holding a bottle of whiskey looking everywhere but at me. “What're you doing?” I asked. “What're you doin'?! You're in my room” I raised my eyebrow and rolled my eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't see your name on it. Oh for fuck sake, Daryl, stop acting like you've never seen me naked before. Unless, you forgot about that time I can home junior year of college during Christmas break. You know the one where you took my virginity and then ignored me for three months after that.”

“Told Ya it was a mistake,” he grunted. I scoffed, “right.” I walked out of the shower and right up to him. “Because having sex with was the most horrible experience of your life!” I yanked the bottle out of his hand, grabbed a towel and walked out into the room. “Take a shower, Daryl, you stink!” I slammed the door and plopped on the couch. Looking to my right to see a cot was set up and put the bottle to my lips, taking a long sip of whiskey, sucking in air through my teeth at the slight burn it made as the amber liquid raved down my throat.

I wasn't on the couch more than five minutes before I was back up, slamming the bottle on the desk and stalking into the bathroom.

“You know what, Dixon!”

He flinched and turned around and stared at me with wide eyes. “The hell ya doin’?!” he yelled. “You day it was a mistake what happened between us. But it wasn't. You enjoyed it and don't say you didn't! You liked being the first man to be inside me. The first to make me come. You liked how I screamed your name. You're just a coward who runs from his feelings! You let Merle make all your decisions for you!”

“You don't know what the hell ya talkin’ about!”

I raised my eyebrows, dropped my towel, and walked right up to him under the surprisingly still hot water. “I do know what I'm talking about. I might have been the one to leave, but you're the one who pushed me away so many times I felt like I had no choice. You've hurt me a lot, Daryl Dixon. You broke my heart when you ignored the next day and then three months after that. I fucking loved you! And don't you dare say it's our age gap because we're only five ye…” I was cut off by him pressing his lips to mine. My brain was so fuzzy from the alcohol that I didn't respond right away. I was trying to figure out what was going on and how it went from hating each other to now with me wrapped around him and my back pressed to the tile.

Daryl's lips trailed down my jaw to my neck, where He sucked a mark into my skin. His hard length pressed against me, pulling a whine from me. “Please.” Daryl gripped himself, looking down between our bodies, and rubbing the tip of his cock through my slit a few times before finding my entrance and pushing inside of me.

“What the hell ya doin’ woman?!” I jumped at the sudden voice and looked up. Daryl was stalking towards me and grabbing the bottle out of my hand. “Well, I was enjoying a drink and having a really good daydream until you interrupted.” Daryl scoffed and sat on the other end of the couch. There was silence between us. Daryl kept fidgeting, and I started to get annoyed by it. “Will you stop!” I said, looking over at him. “Will you get dressed!” He grunted out. His cheeks started to turn a light shade of pink, and I laughed. “Sure, Daryl, I'll get dressed.”

I stood up, walked over to my bag, and pulled out my clothes. But I didn't go to the bathroom, instead I put my clothes on the cot and dropped the towel. “Fucking christ!” Daryl's face turned even more red as he willed himself to look everywhere but at my naked form.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Scary as a sleepy kitten

When - 10 or so minutes after He hasn't been himself, which takes place during the Chupacabra episode of Season 2

What - the finishing touches on Daryl's medical care, how Andrea's handling almost mistakenly killing the guy. You assure her that he's about as scary as a sleepy kitten right then. Then, there's digesting big bro Shane's descent from morality along with Daryl's simultaneous growth in it. Bonus is a hint regarding the Greene's barn. So sad there aren't any barn cats in there anymore, wonder what happened...

Genre - a little angsty, a little fluffy, a little found-family.

Who - You, Mangy Hick (that's Daryl), Patricia, Andrea, Papa Dale and his not good book, and sweet little Beth (who's got the same headcanon from the Fabulously Confident Reader stories about liking choose-your-own-adventure books)

Perspective - 2nd person, and 3rd Daryl

Pronouns - did GN again this time

TWs - some language, otherwise you just have a brief blow-up. The day's been something else, y'all

Length? - 10-15 minutes

References - when Daryl made that funny in Like a traditional Sunday dinner, the incident with Ed as seen in "Deserved" Part 1 but mostly Part 2 and its cooldown in It's not the end of the wo - oh. There's the continuation of big brother Shane's descent, a slow progression in a bulk of the chapters. Be sure to check out Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 , then Spell your last name, please. as well as He hasn't been himself

Official Masterlist here (find fabulously confident reader there!) and the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

have fun and happy reading!

Apologies for the lengthy delay, slowpokes, my brain has been on power-saver for about a month, might could be evident in the chapter, too XD

...........................................

“Guess I'll just move this arm like a robot—oh-ho, check it, I can still do the tomahawk chop, y’all!”

And yeah, then his friend proceeds to make barely one and a half chops before wincing. The slight pout that forms afterward makes him want to smile, it’s damn cute.

“Hurt more than I thought it would.”

The twangy blonde lady looks entertained. “Tell me why, Y/N.”

Their pout turns more embarrassed. “…Movin’ the forearm requires these here muscles.”

He liked that their accent revved up more with the blonde lady—sorry, her name’s Patricia, he knows, got it.

“Which affects what?” Patricia asks.

“My shoulder and chest.”

“Which are injured and got irritated something serious today, along with what I’m fairly sure is maybe your C6 and 7, maybe the T1, whenever you first got hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they mumble.

Stop thinking Y/N looks cute. Also, what were those letter-number things?

Sighing, his friend stares at their upper arm.

So, during the, like, he doesn’t know, 5 minutes or whatever it was when the old man helped him slump to the bathroom so he could finally take a piss, Y/N’s upper arm was wrapped to their torso to prevent them from hurting it more. They keep overdoing it, and they keep taking their damn sling off, so Patricia made a compromise, he guesses.

And after doing a modeling-pose type thing with their wrapped arm and asking who was wearing their gauze better, them or him, Y/N immediately tried to do the tomahawk chop and move like a robot and why is he finding that so damn cute right now?.

Patricia winks at Y/N. “Name some of the muscles up there and I won’t put the rest in a sling."

You

“Ooh, bicep, tricep,” basics out of the way. “This, um, one of these over here is the brachialis, this is the deltoid, the teres major’s under here.” You got that muscle wrong on an anatomy midterm back during college and never forgot about it. “This here is the trapezius.” Because the dudes who do the trapeze at the circus got real big ones (or at least that’s how you remember it). “And, well, the clavicle is this bone, so the bone under it is the scapula, which means right about here’s the subscapularis muscle,” that she said you may have hurt, “Oh, duh, then ‘the major one is the pectoralis.’ And—”

“—Okay, no sling.”

Phew. “Thank you!”

“For now, anyway. Meanwhile, Hersh is givin’ me a look, let’s get to cleaning our friend, here.”

Him

The funny part is, as Patricia left, she made a face and said, “I don’t remember most of the muscle or bone names, I just took Y/N's word for it. Now, Daryl, don’t go gettin’ out of bed, stay put.”

Now he’s finally laying down, nothing else to be done to him. He’s so damn tired.

He’s scrubbed up, too. Got a big-ass bandage over his head, wrapped all around. That was a trip; Patricia and Y/N washed his head and neck over a bowl. He counted the seconds til it was over, half-listened to whatever they were chatting about to distract himself.

Once he was bound up like a cartoon character and given instruction to not get it wet, Hershel came back and walked him to the bathroom again, this time to clean everything else off.

There was a little stool thing in the shower, with the shower hose on the ground instead of hanging. “Don’t get your head or the bandage wet. There's a waterproof cover over the dressing on your side that you'll have to remove when you're finished. Now, I imagine you prefer total privacy, but if you need the help, I can assist, or I can get your friend Theodore, if your prefer.”

“M’fine.”

The simple response “I’ll be outside the door, Daryl,” surprised him. Made him feel stupid and ashamed and comforted all at the same time.

And he…he needed the damn help. Ain’t like the old guy hadn’t seen his back already, anyway.

Still, the old man mostly stayed behind the shower curtain at his request, and he didn’t see his junk or nothing, Daryl made sure to keep himself covered.

Part of him felt like some pathetic little cat getting a flea bath.

Today was something else.

So goddamned tired…

You

Not 15 minutes went by since he was escorted to the washroom and now he’s fast asleep under the sheets.

Lori and you stayed inside with Carl (and Daryl), and Carol and Rick brought in plates of food into the house for the four of you.

Carol cooked up some jerky with an egg for Daryl as a special treat with the rest of his meal. Menu for tonight is peanut butter sandwiches (sort of, they’re on saltines), hard-boiled eggs (not soft-boiled, you checked this time), with sauteed field greens.

Your poor friend must be ravenous, but it looks like tiredness won this round. He looks so different asleep. Sweet, even. It's silly, but his light snores almost sound like purring and now you're thinking about kittens.

Another moment in the quiet, and you figure you shouldn’t stand there like a weirdo anymore.

Well, his egg and the peanut butter sandwiches will keep until he wakes up, and the jerky and egg will taste great either way, but his portion of sauteed field greens won’t be nice cold. You’re only a little bummed when you slide your portion of little sandwiches onto his plate and take his portion of greens. He’s earned extra treats, he can have all the peanut butter he wants after what he found today.

You inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. Close your eyes and ask inwardly for help after offering more thanks that he came back alive, and found concrete proof of Sophia.

It’s nice to be in the quiet. It feels safer better to be away from Shane right now, too. You aren’t sure what you’re going to do about the sleeping situation other than tell your brother to set up his own tent.

You also take one of the cracker sandwiches, it’s been a rough day. But when you start to nibble on it…your appetite is gone. Which is so dumb, dude, you’d been stoked at the thought of chowing down when you were high on Daryl being okay and having found Sophia’s doll.

Daryl’s chest rises and falls. You listen to his light snores, and find it, as Amy would’ve said, “interesting,” (but understandable) that your stomach has a few butterflies at seeing him so peaceful and still.

You miss Amy. Which prompts you to consider that you should check on Andrea. Earlier, Dale had come in and asked a bunch of questions for her because she was too ashamed to see people. From wherever she is right now, Amy is probably hoping you’ll help comfort her big sister.

Patricia stops you before you exit the house through the side-door. “Been meanin' to ask, I heard you tell your brother to get out, earlier. Everythin’ okay?”

That question was unexpected, words aren’t working for you. You shake and nod at the same time, which is weird, so, you open your mouth to fix it, but nothing formulates.

After a second try, all you can stumble through is “I don’t know, ma’am,” before ungracefully scooting outside.

After 5 minutes of polite conversation on the steps, mainly between you and Dale regarding Daryl’s status, Andrea is still dumbfounded that she’d almost killed someone.

“He’s really okay?”

“He’s bandaged and resting now. You only winged him, but the falls he took earlier did the most damage, Andy.” You’re trying not to be angry with her, but failing. Which sucks, because you know she was trying to protect the group…

But that she still shot it even though it was against Mr. Greene’s wishes and she knew that indicates an unhealthy variety of pride. One can't be having that kind of attitude with a firearm, it ain't good. And Daryl was almost a casualty because of it.

And like, come on, there were five of you running toward her target, it was dangerous for her to attempt to shoot from that angle! Doesn’t she understand that’s irrespons—ugh, and isn’t Shane supposed to have been doing gun safety shit with her? Isn’t that his whole wannabe jarhead schtick—great, now you’re more upset about Shane!

“I’m glad you’re enjoying those, ” Dale tells you, nodding at your cracker and chuckling. “They’re the part of dinner I rushed to help make, this evening was…something.”

He shrugs, and you remember how Daryl grunted that today was ‘somethin’ else.’

“I suppose having spread the peanut butter on crackers was a small step up from offering it on spoons to everyone,” he muses.

You can’t help but hum, a spoonful of peanut butter sounds scrumptious right now. Makes a good breakfast or snack, too.

“Did Daryl eat enough?” Andrea worries. “Does he need anything?”

“He was asleep when I brought him his supper, but I left my portion of the crackers—minus this one—on his plate.”

“Come to think of it, I’m not sure he’s a fan of peanut butter,” Dale thinks out loud. “I offered him some for breakfast one morning, and now that I recall, he backed away from it.”

Not like peanut butter?

“—Oh my God, what if he’s he allergic?” Andrea breathes.

“Nah, he ate a peanut yesterday. I was havin’ one of the little packets for lunch and he tried one, he can’t be allergic,” you assure them. And surely he doesn’t not like peanuts. That would be so sad!

It gets quiet.

Andrea stares at her feet.

“I can’t believe almost killed him.” She inhales and buries her face in her hands. “I shot someone.”

And Dale is only meaning to ease her discomfort and add some levity—but whether it’s because of the new bond you have with Daryl, or maybe because here’s something of a flashback hitting you from how you’d had to actually shoot a living person a few months ago—when Dale jokes to you, “Like I told her, we’ve all wanted to shoot Daryl,” you become livid.

After two shallow breaths of your inner tea kettle screaming, this sentence: “Guess y’all will want sunshine over here to work on her aim, then,” seethes out as you stand and book it to the fields.

The past several days especially has shown you how wrong your initial conclusions about that man were. He’s a work-in-progress, make no mistake, but shit if he ain’t working on it!

Unlike your brother, who keeps getting worse, who just tried to flirt with Lori by saying he didn’t care about a missing, abused little girl—the same little girl Daryl was willing to almost die to find!

Horrified at Shane and about today; confused, embarrassed, overwhelmed, in pain, overtired, and therefore angry about everything, you walk, hyperventilate, and finally, quietly, start to cry.

Then you accidentally drop the peanut butter cracker and cry harder.

The light swish of your boots in the grass starts to crunch when you reach the sandy part by now-boarded-up well. You walk faster, neither wanting to be near the two-part walker inside nor in the area where apparently, Daryl dumped Merle’s ‘hard stuff,’ as he slurred to you earlier during his trauma assessment.

Soon you’re by the rocks you’d climbed the other night. You step up and sit on a lower one and sniffle another minute or so until the worst of it seems to have spilled out.

When will you get a better handle on your temper?

While you’re busy wallowing in self-pity, you notice Dale’s watch ticking and are reminded that you have to return it.

You stand.

Trudge back with your tail between your legs.

He and Andrea are still on the steps.

“I’m sorry. I let my anger get the better of me,” you tell them softly.

Dale waves you over. “Come back and sit if you like, kiddo. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been somethin’,” you mumble. “And you aren’t a bad shot, Andrea, I was being snotty.” About an inch to your left and he’d have been a goner, you leave out.

“I’m glad I wasn’t as good a shot as I’d hoped,” she sounds ashamed to say. Her head is still hanging low when she makes a one-sided smile and taps the spot next to her. “Will you be helping with shooting practice tomorrow?”

“If that’s still on, yeah.” Shane was enlisting your help with that, which means you’ll have to act civil…ugh, why worry about tomorrow, tomorrow will worry about itself. You take the watch off, hand it to Dale. “Here you go, Mr. H.”

“Ah, very good. I would hate to start losing track of the days, then we’d really be in for it. Let’s see…an hour until it’s time to wind her up.”

The breeze carries the smell of woodsmoke with it. You lean against Andrea for a moment, she leans back.

Then Shane comes into view.

When you catch his eye, you shake your head in warning in case he’s thinking about coming over and schmoozing with the others as if he didn’t just f—tomorrow will be better. Things will be better in the morning. He’ll apologize and things will be better and you’ll all have a good day and maybe Sophia will be found.

“Y/N, how about we talk later tonight?” Dale murmurs.

Did he see the face you made at Shane?

Best change the subject. “If we do, is it finally my turn to borrow that awful book I’ve heard so much about?”

“The Case of the Missing Man is not an awful book,” he chuckles back, then shrugs. “Maybe Jimmie Herron’s style isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. My Irma didn’t like his work, either.”

“Y/N, it’s really not great,” Andrea drones.

“Glenn said the same.”

“Amy had me read it so we could, um,” her gaze grows teary. She closes her eyes for a moment, then smiles and shakes her head. “‘Share the trauma.’”

You smile and shake your head, too. That sounds like Amy. “She finished it up in my tent while I was knocked out with a migraine, first thing out of her mouth to me when I woke up was how lame it was. Told me you had first dibs.”

“Then I lent it to T-Dog”

Oh, right. On the first half-week of the trek to Fort Benning, his nose was stuck in it. “He plowed on through it, didn’t he?”

“He wanted the torture to be over.”

You and she snort, Dale just chuckles again. “After you finish it, only Rick, and our young Carl—oh, and, uh your br—and Shane, they’ll be the only ones to not have done so.” He points his finger as if an idea just popped into his head. “But both Jacqui and Lori thought it was good.”

“Bless their hearts, they loved watching soaps, though, what does that tell us?” you giggle to them.

Dale lifts his hands in surrender. “See me later, troublemaker, I’ll lend you my ‘awful’ book and we can talk. I’m gonna hold you to it.” He looks at Andrea. “Young lady, will you be alright?”

“Yes. I'm just not ready to face anyone yet.”

“You know where to find me.”

She rests her arms on her knees and slouches again, stare fixed on nothing much. You go to rest your arms on your knees, too, and are immediately reminded that that particular position is a no-go for you right now.

“Y/N, after what happened with Ed, when did the feeling of wanting to hide go away?”

“Mine was an easier situation," you quietly point out. "And it wasn’t just me, Shane was the one who—" you grimace at the memory. "You were there.”

“Mm.”

To answer her question, “But I guess it wasn’t til, y’know, I faced people again that I got I didn’t have to hide. Shane's sense of 'duty' helped, too. But after I talked to Carol, saw Sophia smile at me, when I knew they were on my side, I didn’t mind so much about the rest.”

“Pretty sure everyone was on your side with that,” she mutters. “For what I just did…”

“Pretty sure even Daryl will, um, well th-that you were tryin’ to protect the group.” …oof.

She lifts her eyebrows. “You aren’t good at lying, Y/N.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se. “Objectively, you were tryin’ to protect the group.”

“I wanted to feel in-control and like I could do it.”

Oh.

She admitted that? If only your brain could come up with something heartfelt or whatever the situation called for to convey how much humility from someone so confident and self-assured means, instead of this: “I wanna be on your apocalypse survival team.”

A sigh leaves her, and she simply asks, “Just let me know how furious he is with me. I'm dreading how he’ll be when he’s up. I'm a little scared, while I’m being honest.”

“Hm?”

“Daryl.”

“You’re scared of him?”

She eyes you. “We’ve all seen how he can fly off his handle. He waved that knife at Rick and your brother, the axe at Jenner.”

Oh, right. That didn’t even consider cross your mind, that she’d be scared of his reaction to...being shot in the…head. Man, your brain is not working.

It can’t even configure a response again, now you’re just shaking your head like a confused mute.

“You don’t think I have to worry, Y/N?”

“No,” you answer truthfully. “You might would feel better if you saw him, he's probably up an eatin' dinner by now."

"I think now's too soon."

"Trust me, he’s holed up in bed now, he’s about as scary as a sleepy kitten.”

“Kittens have teeth and sharp claws,” she dryly states.

Your mind immediately hops to the exciting fact that you have yet to meet the Greene’s barn cat(s) as you stand and lead Andrea inside through the side door to get to Daryl’s room, waving to Beth reading her book as you pass.

“Beth, this is Andrea. Andrea this is Beth. She’s the one who made the pudding for Carl. She’s Mr. Greene’s youngest.”

Andrea smiles and goes in for a shake. Beth shyly waves, the returning of the handshake ending up as an awkward afterthought.

Sweet as she is, leaving her in peace is probably what she’s hoping for (the poor teenager’s home and front yard is full of wounded strangers).

And you almost make it through the full sentence before gasping in delight when you see what book she has.“We’re just checkin’ on Dar—is that a choose-your-own-adventure book??”

Him

There was this loud noise in another room, woke him for a second. Y/N’s laugh stuck out from the other sounds.

While falling back asleep, he remembered how he'd made them laugh really loud when he ripped that $20 bill that night at the CDC. How they’d belly-laughed so hard at his dumb, tipsy-ass joke had felt so damned unexpectedly good.

He’s back asleep before the amount of pain he’s in can really register.

You

“I’ll bring it over after I talk to Mr. Horvath. He’s the older man in our group, I love him to pieces, you probably saw him in his bucket hat?” you tell Beth.

Jimmy apparently has been poking fun at her reading choose-your-own-adventure books to pass the time because they’re ‘for kids,’ so, lending him The Case of the Missing Man was decided to be the best way to get back at him.

You hope y’all didn’t wake Daryl, it’d gotten a little animated for a minute. To make up for it, you tiptoe when you trek down the hall to his room, Andrea and Beth behind you.

Beth left something of hers in there before he was brought in, but she was hesitant to go in there (which you praised, teenage girls and unknown older men don’t mix). Anyway, she was hesitant because she’s a little, um, well, kinda intimidated by him.

Andrea invited her to join you two, citing “Y/N says he’s as scary as a sleepy kitten right now.”

At his door, you knock lightly and call his name. Wait for an answer, try again.

Upon listening more carefully, his snores sound through the door and let you know he’s still asleep. Slowly, slowly, you open it.

As subtly as you can, you step into room and pull the sheet that had fallen down back over his shoulder before the girls see the scarring.

Daryl stirs, then grunts something incoherent as he flinches, blinks, and tries to turn toward you.

“It’s just me,” you hush. “I was fixin’ your sheet, it’d fallen.” You tuck the sheet down over his shoulder, gently and slowly. “You’re safe in the Greene’s house. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

His muscles relax and he’s back to snoring before the pet name is finished slipping out of your mouth.

Still standing beside him, you watch his side rise and fall, rise and fall. Reminds you how grateful you are. He really does look so helpless and sweet right now.

You notice Beth peeking back and forth between you and him, but she quickly looks away.

Poor buddy. If the man is this tired, he’ll rest better with closed curtains. He’s big on privacy, besides. Carefully, you start to draw them shut. Andrea joins.

Once they’re all pulled closed and the room is dimmer, she puts her hand on your arm and gently pulls you back into the hall, Beth leading the way. You make sure the door doesn’t make too much noise as it shuts.

“Thanks,” Beth whispers.

“Scary as a sleepy kitten, right?” Oh, that reminds you, “Y’all don’t have a barn cat or two, do you?”

“N-not anymore.”

Aw, that’s sad. “I’m sorry, little one.”

“Oh, um—d-don’t get too close to the big, shuttered barn, okay?” she rushes to add.

Before you can both nod and tell her ‘of course,’ she then stumbles through, “There’s—it’s—the, um—it’s just not real safe!”

She looks so freaked out and nervous that you forget you’re supposed to respond.

Lucky for you, Andrea, smooth as ever, assures her “We’ll let Carl know not play around there,” and starts to chat about how she “steers clear of old barns” ever since she spotted “the biggest rat I’ve ever seen come out of one at a company retreat,” while Patricia comes downstairs hugging to her side what looks like a wedding photo.

Beth scurries away, you make eye contact with Andrea, then Patricia gets your attention.

“Sweet pea, about tonight,” she begins, hands pressed together with her fingertips toward you. “Daryl’s gonna need to be checked on—”

“—Of course. I’ll stay with him. Please do me a list of what to check for and how often?”

“Will do. Try and borrow that big watch again, you’ll need it. Prolly will do well to have somebody else, maybe Carol to help. I'll go find her. You know, there’s an old air mattress in the attic, I’ll have Jimmy fill it up. Just go grab your sleeping bag,” she tells you.

“Thank you!” You’d been hoping for a way to avoid Shane all night. Is this a gift from above or something?

A reminder of, “Don’t use your injured side to carry your sleeping bag in,” from Patricia sends you on your way outdoors to retrieve your stuff.

The air is cooling off as the sun sets. The sky is a hazy orange-pink.

“Y/N, I didn’t realize,” Andrea says, slowly walking beside you.

“Realize what?”

“You two.”

You, too? Is she talking about your shoulder, maybe? “What’d I do? Do you mean my wrapped arm?”

She peers at you, head tilted to the side. “You and Daryl,” she softly clarifies. “It was Dale who wondered first, after you had to excuse yourself.”

Me and Daryl? “What’d we do?” Perhaps she's referring to the search today? Andrea isn’t one to not speak her mind plainly, you wonder why she’s not being more succinct. She doesn't know about you having shot that guy. Dale has an idea, but he's tight-lipped about it.

“So, you and he…?” she trails off.

?

So, you start to fill her in about the search. “Before Daryl found the doll, we’d—”

—OH WAIT, now you get it!

---------------------------

---------------------------

(for those wondering, the tomahawk chop is something Georgia Braves fans do)

> Masterlist link here

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​​​​ @whistlesalot​​​​ @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer​​​​  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat​ @darylsmavis​​​​​  @outlanderhornet22​​​​​ @battinsonrobs @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @multiifandomhoe @writingmybeloved @boomergirl123 @iheartathena0 @moonliight-luv @suniloli

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here and your comfort level is important!)  

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

"fondness" LOL

When -- directly after Scary as a sleepy kitten. We're back to season 2, slowpokes. We had taken a brief trip to pre-season 9 for Still beating

Is there a picture of baby Carl at the end as a prize? -- yes, just as Dale describes it to you!

What -- Andrea and Dale thought you and Daryl were a thing? Lol. But like why are you so defensive about it? While also being defensive about the mangy hick, oh, this is confusing...

Perspective -- 2nd person (you)

Pronouns - nada

Who -- You, Andrea, Papa Dale, and Glenn. Daryl's sleeping, he's concussed and fell down a ridge twice with a bolt hole in him, he needs his rest.

How long is this one? -- shorter, about 10 minutes!

TWs -- a few cusses, and reference to Carol's spousal abuse

Reading assignments -- How's your head? Part 2, then souls stripped bare if you want more emotional context, as well as Invisible tugging strings Part 1 but especially -> Part 2 , then Spell your last name, please. , He hasn't been himself, and Scary as a sleepy kitten.

All that for reading assignments?? -- reading is healthy, y'all :P

Choose your fighter: The Full + Official Masterlist vs Chronological Slowpoke Chapters Only (reading them in publishing order as opposed to chronological order is recommended)

have fun and happy reading!

“Ah, the culprit behind Andrea’s little conclusion. How are you?”

Dale finishes matching a pair of socks as he responds with a quiet chuckle, “Just fine, I hope. I see now that the conclusion caused some…offense?”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. H, you meant nothin’ by it,” you play off, and start to help his sort through the pile of clean, dry socks.

“‘Meant nothing by it’ implying there was some offense taken.”

You tuck in your lip, and meant to return eye contact, but you’re still feeling strange about the whole mix-up. With the simple words, “nazi-bike,” you tell him what you consider a fair reason to have taken some offense.

---------------------

20 minutes ago

“Y/N, I didn’t realize,” Andrea says, slowly walking beside you.

“Realize what?”

“You two.”

“Me, too? What’d I do?” Is she talking about how you’ve got the medical wrap on your upper arm, maybe? “Do you mean this?” you question, looking down at your shoulder.

She peers at you, head tilted to the side.

“You and Daryl,” she softly clarifies. “It was Dale who wondered first, after you had to excuse yourself.”

Me and Daryl? “What’d we do?” Perhaps she's referring to the search today? Andrea isn’t one to not speak her mind, you wonder why she’s not being more succinct. She doesn't know about you having shot that guy. Dale has an idea, but he's tight-lipped about it.

“So, you and he…?” she trails off.

?

So, you start to fill her in about the search. “Before Daryl found the doll, we’d—”

—OH WAIT, now you get it!

---------------------

Once you figured it out, your hands were raised in innocence and you kept your voice lowwww. “Ain’t nothing romantic happened between us two.”

And you weren’t fully sure why you were going into defensive mode so hard, either, but there you went. “C’mon, Andy, there’s a fuckin’ nazi symbol on his drug dealing, motorcycle gang bike,” you’d grit, doing your best to play if cool regardless of how weirdly defensive you’d gotten.

Forcing a smile to cover up for that fact that you licked your teeth in annoyance, you finished up, “He’s my friend, but that right there would be a deal breaker off the bat for aught else. And besides, back at the quarry, we noticed he didn’t seem into people.”

“I’m not entirely sold on that. Maybe, it’s simply that he’s shy and careful and not a pig like his brother was.”

Andrea then had peered at you as if she could see something you couldn’t, which disturbed and annoyed and for some reason thrilled you even more.

You thought about it, and supposed that he did seem to blush that time Amy was headlighting after the first rainstorm at the camp. A squall had come out of nowhere. Last time she ever wore that shirt without a tank top underneath.

Anyway, Daryl had immediately turned his head away, in fact, as opposed to (Merle, obviously, but also) even Glenn, who’d frozen when he’d seen. Amy didn’t know who’d been gaping, but you’d been on the hunt for anyone objectifying your new friend, so had been darting your eyes around like a cat getting ready to pounce, and took inventory of every glance.

That Daryl turned his head so readily was the main reason you’d felt safe enough to ask if him if he’d teach you how to hunt, in all honesty…

“It was his brother’s bike, not his,” Andrea next stated, very like the way older siblings will talk down to younger ones. “Merle was the head, and the dealer. Would you want to be held accountable for what your brother does, his choices?”

That simple reminder made your bow your head, and you could hear your pulse begin to thrum in your ears. You wouldn’t want to be held to Shane’s choices and actions. You still couldn’t (can’t) wrap your head around the fact that he’d just flirted with Lori. And kept flirting after she’d clearly been alarmed by it.

“Something Merle once said made it sound like Daryl wasn’t a big part of the gang,” Andy went on.

However, you got even more defensive at what you were taking as insistence of Dale and Andrea’s little conclusion. “And? He still rode or, or at least hung with them. He still wears the cut sometimes.” 'Sometimes' meaning that spate of a few days when he was particularly sad about Merle...

“‘Cut?’” she repeated, then remembered, “Oh, I remember learning that from Sons of Anarchy, it’s the um, that’s the Boy Scout vest that bikers wear, right?”

Ha. You were cracking up despite yourself, that was funny. Boy Scout vest.

“As for the bike,” Andrea added mildly, “painting over that symbol isn’t on his radar. I mean, routine hygiene isn’t on his radar.”

Nope, you weren’t defensive at all. “…So he’s grimy and desensitized to a nazi symbol. It’s a match.”

With a tut very-like what your eldest sister would make, she stated, “I didn’t remember what the symbol on the bike stood for at first, and I'm a civil rights lawyer. I thought they were stylized lightning bolts.” You heard her breathe deeply as she rested her arms on the livestock fence. “The symbol, the one on Merle’s bike, what’s it mean again?”

“Shoots-stah-full.” You’re bad at pronouncing it and were feeling embarrassed, so spoke it shyly. “SS is easier to say.”

“They were the secret police?” she checked.

“The secret police was the gestapo, the SS were another sort of special branch. Über-jarheads, I guess.”

“See? I only really remembered the swastika as being a nazi symbol, until you and Dale were talking about the symbol on the bike. It’s not unreasonable to think some things in Daryl’s education were forgotten or missed, too.”

That was the point in the conversation when the private knowledge of him having gotten lost for 9 days, as a young child, and without anyone looking for him, slapped you in the metaphorical face.

Why did you react so strongly to her assumption in the first place? It’s not a big deal. You’d have probably assumed the same. Like, for goodness sake, you were the one who couldn’t keep the pet names for him from going on parade little over an hour ago. You'd cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead in relief that he was alive!

Either way, there was a (…sane?) inner battle in your head between being offended at Andrea and Dale’s conclusion versus being offended at your own negative reaction to it.

Bitch, he tossed the ‘hard stuff’ this morning, obviously he isn’t a user.

Still ran with the dealers, still was complacent and complicit with it all. And think about how cruelly he insulted you earlier today, how scary he was? You were expecting it to turn into his backhand. It’s something that was plainly done to him, you think he’s unlearned that yet? No, because you remembered how he grabbed you by your arm and dragged you back at the house until you cussed him out.

But then he apologized. Then, when you needed help, he carried you gently and made sure it wasn’t hurting you. You saw how careful he was being, and he isn’t good with touch.

Then he stole Mr. Greene’s horse instead of just asking like a normal person.

He also gave Carol that flower and told her the story to go with it, and meant it.

Before drinking about four beers last night and was hardly buzzed from it.

He carried, buried, and mourned that family of strangers with you today, he’s not some selfish deadbeat, Y/N!

Well, he chain smokes and drives a nazi bike!

And still almost died today three times to give the group—to give Carol—concrete proof that her baby girl’s been near.

Fine! Explain away the r-a-c-i-s-m.

That mangy hick saved Glenn’s life, he saved T-Dog’s life twice. He gave Jacqui extra root beer when she said she loved it, helped the Morales kids learn to throw a punch (and a kick). Y/N, he’s clearly doing some kind of weeding of the bad stuff in him and letting good things take their place, idiot, are you stu—

“Y/N. It wasn’t an attack on you, or a judgment. Amy told me how,” Andy paused to think of a good verb, “discerning you are when it comes to things like that. How strong your boundaries are. And how hesitant you’ve been to enter into a relationship for those reasons.”

She was diplomatic and tactful, you were grateful. You’d have just said ‘old-fashioned, kinda scared, comparatively prudish.’ Lol.

Crossing her arms as she walked, she then drove home, “Maybe I would have trusted your decision, if there was a ‘you two.’”

A slightly stammered “Okay,” was the best you could do right in terms of responding. Let’s be real, sentences aren’t your strong suit on a good day, never mind today.

Andrea stuck her hands into her belt loops and she ambled alongside the fence. You followed, looking out at the cows. One of them had twin calves.

“You gave him the benefit of the doubt before any of us,” she reminded you. “Are you backtracking?”

Your voice cracked when you tried to insist, “I ain’t backtracking on that, it’s j-just been a long day.”

“It’s been something else,” Andrea softly agreed. Her pace slowed a little and she placed her hand on your back as she continued toward the nearest cow field. “I saw Carol washing your stuff. Where’d the bloodstains come from?”

You shrugged. “My stitches ripped.” Ohh damn it, you said it out loud. “Wait, Andy, don’t—please don’t let Shane find out,” came out of your mouth in such a desperate tone of voice that you couldn’t not see a red flag.

“Oh, I won’t.” Andrea’s lips pursed, and she put a hand on her hip. “He’s been acting up.”

One word for it. You closed your eyes, and mumbled, “Thank you. He has been.”

“It doesn’t seem like you to hide stuff from him.”

Hide stuff? “No, it’s the…” After inwardly tugging the halyard to get that red flag down, you give up. Let it fly; you were hiding stuff from your brother, plain fact. Still are. For now, at least.

Andrea said nothing more about it. Again, you were grateful. You also felt stupid.

You stood there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the breeze, the mooing, the birds chirping, the cicadas buzzing.

Once the sun was halfway set, she lead the way back.

“At any rate, back to what we were discussing,” she relaxed her position and gave you something of a teasing smirk. “T-Dog is convinced Daryl’s a good guy, too, so what does that tell you?”

“That Teddy’s a saint,” you answered quietly, mouth twisting into an embarrassed grin. You may or may not sometimes remind her of what a catch you think T-Dog is combined with the fact that he’s single and in her age range. “Andy, where was all this goin’?”

“I have no idea, at first I thought I was being supportive,” she chuckled. “I guess: Daryl is proving to be a different man than we thought. And I’d say you know that better than anyone here.” She inhaled, then made a slight groan. “And, well, I did just shoot him, so maybe I’m biased.”

You held back a giggle. “So you’re tryin’ to set Daryl up to make amends?”

“Mmhm,” she sassed back. “Guess I’ll need a more willing victim.”

“Understood, let’s find Carol, she's half in love with him after today.”

“Perfect, let's get her. She’s probably hanging laundry,” was her initial sarcastic agreement. After a few steps in silence, she grew serious. “Carol needs to learn her worth before we can let a man near near her again. Especially one like Daryl.”

The first half of her statement sent you in for a hug. But the second sentence in her statement put you right back on defense and simultaneous offense. What came out of your mouth as you sought clarification, however, was unproductive. “Seriously?”

Per usual, Andrea remained unruffled. She held a hand up. “Based on what I know, your bar is high enough to do pull-ups on. Now, you’d help hoist someone up to your bar—and would kick off anyone who tried to lower it.” She gave you a pointed look. “Carol’s bar wasn’t only low, Y/N, it was taken down and used to beat her.”

The mental image struck right in the gut.

Blindly, you followed her past the grove of trees where Otis’ cairn lay, so offered a quick blessing in your head for him.

She turned back to look at you. “Do you understand where I was coming from, Y/N?”

You had to swallow some of the emotion down first. “I think so.”

“You and him, I’d be fine with, because your bar is set high and firm. It would imply good things about Daryl.”

After a sniff, you thanked her, that was a very generous compliment. And unfortunately, unable to not be a weirdo, you mumbled this dumb comment: “I can’t be hoistin’ nobody up until my darn shoulder is healed.”

----------------------

Now

“The motorcycle was Merle’s,” Dale lightly defends. Same response as Andrea, but with more of an understanding tone of voice. He was raised Jewish and lost family during the Holocaust, you know that.

Still, why didn't he react with more gusto, then? You hum and end up matching a sock somewhat aggressively. Which is not a sentence you’d ever have imagined thinking.

“Y/N, you can’t fault the man for accepting his dead brother's gas-friendly, easily repairable and reliable mode-of-transport that can go places bigger vehicles cannot. Him being able to go ahead and scope out the roads has been a boon. The emotional connection to the bike in itself would be understandable.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighs. “My first thought was one of…how to describe it, uh, it was an...” he considers for a moment. “I suppose the best word is ‘confidence’ in Daryl’s character, if you had taken a shine to him.”

“‘Taken a shine to him?’”

“You know, a fondness for each other.”

“A 'fondness?'”

“Though I suppose the camaraderie that you two have is a commendation for him in itself,” he went on, eyeing you with something of an exasperated look. Good humored, though.

You scratch your nose. “I think we all have some kind of camaraderie or, y’know, a ‘shine’ with him after today.” It would be impossible not to. “To be fair, I couldn’t stop callin’ him pet names earlier. There’ve been a lot of up and downs we’ve gone through together the past few days, I’m not lookin’ too deep into it.” And you were merely so relieved that he was alive after getting grazed by that bullet, which is why you pressed your forehead to his and gave it a kiss.

“And he was injured, a circumstance which tends to encourage terms of endearment,” he kindly agreed. “Nothing wrong with that, kiddo. And there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that he’s not so bad.”

Nodding, Dale points his finger after matching another sock. “For me, what solidified it was when he found out that T-Dog had the blood infection.” He pressed his thumb and pointer finger together. “The man immediately gave us those antibiotics, as well as some painkillers.”

The recollection of that blessed relief trickled from your belly down to your toes and fingertips. And hearing that it had been done ‘immediately’ sent a tightness to your throat. You swallowed.

“However, it was before that, at the quarry, when I really started to trust that the, uh,” he raised his brows, then grinned briefly. “That the ‘first impression’ wasn’t accurate in several ways. One, I imagine you will remember, it was a few days prior to the supply run to the city. The last supply run, as it were.”

You nod. You’d been barred from going due to an uptick in getting migraines the previous two-ish weeks. Must’ve been the barometric pressure or something.

“Daryl had been looking for you, found fresh tracks close to the campsite, if I recall.”

Just then, Glenn walks over with his mouth full of something—oh snap, he’s got a container of honey wheat pretzels. Yay!

He plunks it in the middle of you and Dale and begins to help with the sock-sorting and laundry folding.

Like a starving Dickensian orphan, you zero in on the pretzels and quickly stuff a few too many into your mouth. Glenn finds this very funny, cracks up, and now you’re trying not to snarf as you desperately try to chew and swallow.

“I gave half my supper away,” you do your best to enunciate as you crunch.

“Glad you’re doing better after passing out earlier.”

You press a finger to your lips and subtly shake your head, just in case your brother would somehow overhear it.

“Anyway,” Dale gets back to it, with a handful of the pretzels for his own, “after I explained to him that you were indisposed, he seemed irked, wandered off. Some time later, however, he came back to me with a sports drink in his hand, asking if you’d left your tent yet. It seems that he intended the beverage to go to you.”

The memory kicks in and, mid-motion and mid-chew, you stop reaching to grab the mate to the sock in your hand. Another sensation spreads through your belly, a nice but nervous one. Your eyes flit up at Dale, who paused to take a drink from his water bottle.

“I hadn’t seen you or Amy leave your tent at that point, so let him know,” he narrated, capping his bottle again. “Except, on his way back to his and Merle’s spot, he slowed and crouched to look under the truck. Then, he held out the bottle.” Dale next makes a chuckle that probably qualifies as a ‘guffaw,’ it’s a proper old man belly-laugh. “And to my quite vocal alarm, a skinny, pale little arm popped out from underneath and took it!”

The name “Gollum?” is the unfortunately first thing that enters into your head and, yes, you say it out loud…but it’s cool, because Glenn happens to say at the same time, “Like Sméagol.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Look who’s talking, dork,” he pokes right back.

“My mind went to the two children hiding behind the Ghost of Christmas Present’s cloak, personally,” Dale muses, then continues the story. “Daryl wandered off on his way after that, but, naturally, I hopped down from the RV to see who on earth was under there." He lifts a shoulder. "I bend down to see who but our young Carl! The boy had already drunk half the bottle, said he felt much better for having done so. It seems he’d felt sick before and crawled under the truck to escape from the sun.”

Daryl gave your Carl a gatorade, too, and said not a word about it.

Good Moses, just when you thought you’d tamped down any notion of irrational affectionate feelings toward that mangy hick...

“With that, little Luis came dragging Miranda over with a cup of water—Miranda had been watching the boys while Lori was out foraging for mushrooms, Eliza must have been with Sophia and Carol.” Another sip from his water bottle. “Mmm. Those mushrooms were a treat,” he said mainly to himself. "Y/N, he found you later and gave you the beverage before you washed up, if I'm not mistaken? He came by with another bottle, I directed him to the quarry lake after seeing you head down with a wash bucket."

You nod. Was it obvious that you flushed when he told you the story?

Because you feel flushed, and that’s with the cool breeze outside this evening. You fold a shirt. Some undies. Match another pair of socks…then you figure you should say something, you’ve been too quiet and Dale is looking at you expectantly. “C-Carl does have a way of, uh, slippin’ out of sight.”

“Like a hobbit.”

“Just like a hobbit, Glenn, the boy coulda burgled us blind.”

Your friend remains mock-serious. “He still might.”

“He’s a tricksy one.” And with that, you take more pretzels. Maybe if you feed the butterflies in there, they’ll get tired and nap. Or, if you stuff enough into your belly, there won’t be enough room for them to fly.

“Hey, saw Shane’s setting up his own tent,” your friend mentions.

“Mm. Privacy will be nice.” You kept your face and voice nonchalant, except for maybe searching a little too intently for the matching sock that was plainly in front of yo—owww, you reached too far with your bad arm.

When you found out from Lori last night about the new baby and who the biological father potentially might could be, it’d felt like the seed of dread that had taken root in you however many months back, regarding Shane, had blossomed.

Now, after you caught him flirting with a very unreceptive and visibly shaken Lori, it feels like the plant shot up and was now pushing against your insides. It’s a wonder the irrational butterflies in your stomach even have room.

“That sound good, Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Glenn nudges you with the side of his foot. “Can you join?”

“Join what?”

“I told you, head was in the clouds,” Dale commented, kindly razzing you.

“Jimmy and I are playing board games later, we want you to come. Beth will be there, too. And maybe Maggie? I-I don’t know…” His cheeks turn purple-red. “Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds real good. On the porch?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. I’ll be right in the house tonight, anyhow.”

“No way?”

“Way. Daryl needs overnight supervision, I think Carol might will be helping, too?”

Dale looks up from his lap. “Oh, did he enjoy the spam and eggs that she made for him?”

“Not sure, he was asleep last I knew.”

“Ah, that’s right, yes,” he remembered. “Well, maybe in that case she’ll have the pleasure of watching him eat and enjoy. I tell you, it smelled heavenly. She was very intent on making something special for him.”

The first half of what you said was totally innocuous, if maybe on the wishy-washy side.“Who could blame her? After today, she’s probably half in love with the guy.”

But then you followed it up with, “Who isn’t?” and you knew right then that you’d misspoken.

Dale’s made a point to keep his eyebrows level, as if that would help him hide his surprise and suppressed grin better.

But Glenn was under no such pretense, and your best friend dead-ass coughed his mouthful of pretzel.

“Dude—” you go to say.

He held up his hands after getting the pretzel bits off them. “I didn’t say anything.”

You held up yours, too. “I was bein’ objective.”

“Okay, Amy,” he said regarding your choice of word. Amy liked the word ‘objective.’

“Calling me that’s a compliment.”

“We are all objectively in love with Daryl?” he repeated. “Isn’t that a little…wait. Dude, are you saying you—”

“—It was hyperbole.”

“But you’re not, like, do you like him?”

“Now, Glenn,” Dale starts.

That surge of both self-defense that people would think you’d be into a grating racist or that one would be into you collided and was catalyzed with protectiveness against the poor man. That wonderful sumbitch has been on a solid redemption arc, let anybody try to deny it. “Define ‘like.’”

“Like like.”

“Bless your heart, no!” What is with people today? “However, I want you to think back over how he was when we done first met that mangy hick, to today, in terms of his behavior. Try and make like he ain’t grown. Don’t you love a good redemption arc?”

Glenn considered it. “Fair.”

The awful thought that Glenn might not believe you and might think less of you only worsens the mosh pit that is your stomach right now. “I’m gonna, um, g-go grab some of my stuff, bring it inside.”

“Wait, bumpkin, I wasn’t trying to, like—I meant it more as, um,” he can’t seem to get the wording right.

You’re making it worse, man. “Dude, it’s cool, you didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“But like—”

“—Glenn, I’ma start chargin’ a quarter for you using too many ‘likes’ per sentence.”

“Perfect, I’ll charge you for talking too hillbilly.”

Eh. You reckon admit you’ve been speaking a lot more twangy now than you had been at the quarry camp. There’d just been so many new people, you’d toned it down. Maybe being around more folk people who talk like you is why you’ve let it fly. “It’s a deal.”

“Good — you owe a quarter for saying ‘when we done first met’ Daryl,” he races to say.

“And you owe me one for how many likes you done sprinkled durin’ this here conversat—shoot! Did that count?”

“Yup.”

Dale, entertained by the looks of it, cuts in, “See, this is why I’ve been thinking that you two had a fondness for each other.”

“Aw, hear that, buttface?” you giggle, folding the last undershirt from the pile.

“Fondness.” He makes an exaggerated curious face and strokes what would be there if he had a mustache.

“You two expect me to believe there wasn’t fondness between you two?” Dale remarks with a bit of a tut thrown in.

“There still is, it’s just different now,” you insist. And immediately hop into gear to (gently) bust your friend’s balls. “Especially now that Glenny-boy here’s got his eye on a certain mystery lady.”

He’s right there with you. “And now that Y/N’s apparently hopelessly in love with Daryl.”

“There’s such fondness,” you barely manage to say without laughing, as much as it makes your newly stitched abdomen ache.

Dale sighs and throws back a gulp of his water as if it were something stronger. “Glenn, just tread lightly with the certain mystery lady, is all I ask. And Y/N, kiddo,” he looks at you. And winks? “I trust you completely with Daryl.”

“What?” Glenn protests, to which you just slap your leg and snicker “Ha!”

“If between you, there ever was a…” Dale pauses long enough for you to see the twinkle in his eye. “Fondness.”

----------------------

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And here's the picture from Dale's memory

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