#nah but really I'm sorry!!! I got writers block and I'm trying to push through!!!

[prompt-master]

In Sickness and In Sickness

[anyotherwriter]

First of all im so happy for this news ;w;

My request is:

Daryl was always giving mean answers to readers daily questions. He was thinking that she was needlessly happy and positive even in the worst moment. She was just trying to make conversation with him and believed there was still good in life. One day when reader gets hurt Daryl tries to help and this time reader is surprised and asks if he cared about her. Daryl loved her but just couldn't get used to the idea that he loved her.

Soo something like this. Sorry if i couldnt write it well english is not my mother tongue 😗✌🏻

Masterlist / buy me a coffee? / art insta

HIIIIIII !!

I've never had writer's block hit me so fast before so MY BAD, apologies for taking so long. I hope what I'm providing you with now will suffice because I really struggled with it.

Anyway. Thank you so much for your request!

Okay, love you, bye.

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Daryl always found himself in a limbo. On one hand, he’d be getting frustrated at you because you just asked so many questions, pointless ones, questions about nothing important. You’d asked him what his favorite color was (to which he never answered), what food he misses the most, how he used to take his coffee, and on, and on, and on. He always worried that your chatter would scare away the game and they’d return back to the prison empty-handed, even if you were always quick to quiet when he asked.

On the other hand, your voice kept him company during the hot days when he just wanted to plop down beside a tree and take a quick nap. The sound of your footsteps beside him calmed him more than when he was alone, knowing that he had someone that had his back completely, the way he had yours. He also couldn't deny the way his chest tightened whenever you'd look at him and smile.

His mind was a mess, but only when it came to you.

The two of you had wandered out for food early this morning when the sky was still a watercolor of pinks, oranges and dark blues. Checking traps he'd set days before finally had success, and a rabbit hung limp from a strap across your chest where you offered to carry it. You would try relentlessly to get him to speak to you, to say anything. Normally Daryl was trapped in his own head, caught up in thoughts of impending doom, needing to take care of everyone but himself, and survival. You wanted to remind him that he was human, too.

"Do you ever miss going to the movies?" You asked him, breaking the still of air as the two of you broke through the tree line and headed towards a home you didn't recognize. Daryl was now a couple steps ahead of you, his crossbow gripped tightly in his hands, lifted halfway. He was always ready for a fight, always tense.

"Nah." Daryl replied easily, his voice sounding annoyed as usual as he scanned the area around the front door. You only nodded your head, disappointed.

"What do you miss, Daryl?" You asked him just before you got knocked to the ground. You landed on your arm awkwardly, head hitting an exposed tree branch, and the familiar growling of hunger was clawing at you in your vulnerability. The smell of rotting flesh clouded your senses as you fought to push off the walker, and not being able to reach your knife made those few seconds some of the longest you'd ever experienced. A bolt finally stilled the decaying body, and the weight was quickly lifted from you.

"Y'alrigh'?" He said quickly, letting the body thud harshly to the ground and then began to fuss over you. He moved his hands roughly over your arms and legs and you couldn't help but smirk. He was concerned about you, something you didn't think was possible.

"Hey," he said a bit quieter, his hand reaching behind your neck as he helped you sit up slowly. "We gotta go." He said trying to be careful with you, but a few more walkers broke from the treeline making a beeline for the two of you. As much as Daryl wanted to poke and prod and fix you, he couldn't do that if you were both dead.

You nodded your head as you stood, your vision going fuzzy with black and white speckles, reminding you of the snow of TV screens. Daryl let you throw your arm over his shoulder, his arm under yours, and he all but pulled you into the woods. He wanted to go slow, especially when your feet stumbled at the speed his went, but he could still hear the lazy shuffling of dead feet, and groans echoing through the trees. Being rough with you now, holding you too tightly to get you somewhere safe, could be forgiven later.

"We're almos' there." He said harshly, the extra weight you'd started to shift into him taking a toll on his legs. He knew that you both still had a ways to go before safety was promised. Sweat broke out across his brow and he was getting tired fast. He could feel your body getting heavier, your feet stumbling more, your grip on him getting stronger. Daryl decided to squat down, scoop a hand behind your knees and lift you up.

And then you were out.

**

The familiar smell of faint mold registered first. The room was settled in darkness, small flickers of orange and yellow from the common area reminding you of where you were; in your bed, wrapped in an extra blanket that wasn't yours.

When you tried to sit up, your head was riddled with a splitting headache. You clutched at the hair at the back of your head, hoping you could just tear out the offending pain.

"Ah," you heard as an off-kilter shuffling of feet came into the room, "you're awake." Hershel set down a small candle and grabbed a few pills he'd left bedside for you previously and held them out to you now.

"You remember what happened?" He asked as he sat down in the chair across from the bed and stretched out his leg. He looked at you with concern as you focused your sights on him. You only nodded. "Good. Now let me get a look at ya."

Hershel's exam was supposed to be quick, but his directives fell on deaf ears as you moaned and groaned about being tired, avoided the dying flashlight he tried to shine in your eyes, and gripped the edge of the flat mattress a little too hard to make the motion sickness stop. You barely registered Hershel’s mumbles about a concussion as you remembered the ugly orange color of the front door of the house you hadn't made it into, and the smell of a rainstorm coming in, but most of all, you remembered Daryl.

"Is he okay?" You croaked out, recalling the way his arms trembled around you as he tried to keep going. Hershel stood and looked down at you.

"Daryl's just fine." He said, his voice calming any concern that you may have put Daryl in harm's way. "He's been worried about you. Lingering and pacing, but that's all. But I'm sure he'll deny it." He said with finality as he stepped out of your cell and pulled the curtain across.

You wanted to get up, to walk around and stretch your knees that felt unusually sore; you also wanted to eat. You weren't sure how long you were out, but the one thing you were sure of is that you were craving a hefty bowl of underwhelming, flavorless rabbit stew. When you went to stand, a wave of nausea rose up your throat and forced you back down, head in hands.

"Hey." You heard Daryl from the doorway. Peeking between your fingers, you saw him standing there, back stiff, with a bowl in his hands. Like he could read your mind, even if you were positive that Hershel directed him to bring it. You gave him a small smile as you sat up straight to look at him.

He looked as if he just finished a week-long bender of no sleep, his hair an extra bit tangled on one side from where he kept grabbing at it mindlessly to relieve his anxiety. His feet were tired from pacing, up tower steps, across the field, through the hallways pretending to do work when he just wanted to come into your cell to check on you every three minutes. He hadn't given much merit to his attachment to you, how often he purposefully put himself near you, the number of times he'd look over his shoulder in reassurance that you were right there with him, until Hershel requested for everyone to 'let you rest' and to not disturb you as you recovered.

The moment Hershel came down and let everyone know you were awake and doing just fine, a tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders. Daryl became conscious of what you would remember of him, and not just of this accident. He worried about how you thought about him in the privacy of your cell, or when you'd be down tending to the garden with Carl, or when you'd be directly beside him and he wouldn't say so much as one word. He imagined it all bad, because he hadn't given you a reason for anything more before.

"Look," you started as he made a step forward to put down the food across from you. "I'm sorry. I should've paid more attention."

Daryl's brow furrowed as he continued to stand there and stare. He couldn't think of any reason for you to be sorry. He hadn't heard the walker either, he wasn't watching your back the way he should've been. It took a few hours for the rest of the group to reassure him that it was an accident, it wasn't his fault, or yours.

"Don' be." His head shook and his shaggy hair started falling into his eyes. "Shit happens. I'm jus' glad yer alrigh'."

He noticed your face looked different, and maybe it was just the glow of the candle casting wrong shadows, but you looked defeated. It was something he hadn't seen from you before. He'd seen the anger, and sadness, and the exhaustion, but your eyes looking up at him like you had broken was all new entirely.

"I don' miss nothin' from before." He said suddenly. He hadn't intended to say it, it was just the beginning of a thought, a terrifying thought, and a very personal one, too. But with your happy-go-lucky mask stripped from your face, and your hand massaging the back of your head, he hoped that maybe answering one of your unanswered questions would help in some way.

It took you a moment to understand what he meant, to remember the last question you asked him before you were sure it was your time to die. It was the first question he decided to answer in months.

You couldn't help but laugh a little when you realized that the answer you got was so uninspired, so boring. Daryl felt a small flare of resistance in his chest.

"Wha's funny?"

"Nothing." You said with a small voice as you finally took a bite of stew. Like you expected, it wasn't much of anything, but it still managed to quell the growling in your stomach. Daryl still stood, now in the doorway, and you weren't sure why. He looked a bit flustered and had the familiar glint in his eyes he'd usually get before an argument.

"I ain't like you." He started. "I didn't have anythin' growing up but a hard time. Don't see why that's funny."

"It's not, Daryl." You shook your head lightly, averting your eyes from his. "I just… of all the things I've asked you, that's what I finally get from you?"

"Wha' do ya want from me?" He asked with a voice much louder than before. "A play-by-play of my life before and after everything went to shit? 'Cause it's been abou' the same, except now I get more sleep!"

"Daryl-"

"No!" You don' get ta ask me questions and then not like th'answers!" He yelled and then everything went silent, even the small sounds of movement from down below where you knew everyone was sitting. Daryl's demeanor was defensive, with one foot in the door and the other in the hallway, like he was about to run from the room. You couldn't understand why he was mad or what had changed in the last minute.

"I don't mean anything by it, Daryl." You said gently as you put your bowl down, food unfinished. "I just like to remember sometimes that life didn't always revolve around surviving. Remembering the things that made me happy are what keep me going. I ask about everyone and hope the memories do the same for them too."

"Yer not happy now?"

"No!" It was your turn to yell, wondering how anyone now could possibly say yes. Your head pounded at the outburst and you squeezed your eyes shut. "How the fuck am I supposed to be happy in this, Daryl? Is anyone here happy? Are you?"

Daryl bit at the skin of his thumb as he thought. He knew the positivity you carried with you was a shield, one to keep you from breaking, but a lot of times he ended up believing it. The group could have run out of food, and water, and lost a few people along the way, but you never failed to try and pick up the pieces. You seemed happy, he never thought it was something you did for everyone else.

He knew the answer to this question should be no. But what he had now- the family, a place that felt like home, the skill set to survive….you- did make him feel happy. And he nodded his head, thinking of all the things he had now in comparison to before.

"How hard did I hit my head?" You groaned, dropping your head back into your hands. You couldn't wrap your head around him telling you he was happy- of all people, with his grumbled, tight answers, being quick to jump for a fight, and closed off to everyone. It had to be a hallucination.

"Hard." He said, much closer this time. "And ya scared tha'shit outta me."

"I don't have a concussion." You said with finality. "I'm dead, aren't I? I have to be! Because only in hell would Daryl Dixon be concerned about me."

"Look at me."

He was much closer than you thought. He was kneeling down on the hard floor, his right hand on the bed beside you. He had a faint smudge on his cheek and his lips were cracked. The last time you were this close to him was when you were crammed into a crowded storage shed as a crowd of walkers took their time passing, except this time the smell of death didn't fill the air. You felt a chill crawl down your spine when you met his eyes.

"I don' miss shit from before. I didn' know that bein' happy was somethin' I'd ever feel. But now… I got'a family, I got'a roof over my head, food. And you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you." He shook his head as his neck flushed. "Tha'only thing I've ever missed in this world was you. B'fore I even knew ya, it felt like I was missin' somethin'. I had to wait for the world ta die ta realize I was missin' you. When I'm outside the walls and you aren't there with me, I miss ya. When ya come in here to sleep at'nigh', I miss ya. When I see ya on the other side of the damn field, I miss ya. And when I brought ya back here… I thought ya'weren't gonna wake up. I missed ya'tha most, then."

"Daryl-"

"I don' wanna spend the rest of m'life missin' ya. I haven' had enough time with ya, and I was worried it was already over."

A delicate silence settled between the two of you, then. Daryl's eyes downcast at a small tear in his jeans but you couldn't pull your eyes away from him. Everything he said felt like the words of a fever dream, something you swore you've heard before, maybe when you were on the cusp of a heat stroke back on the road and hoping to die gently.

Another laugh, albeit small, bubbled out of you. It had Daryl snapping his head up to look at you, his chest feeling like it was caving in in embarrassment. He let himself be vulnerable and you were laughing. He tried to stand quickly but you took hold of his wrist and wouldn't let go.

"Stop." You pleaded. "I'm sorry, I…you just…you missed me?"

Daryl could only stand there, held in place by your tightening fingers as he stared at the floor. He heard small movements from down below again, and then the sound of the outside door shutting. He hoped desperately that they had all stepped outside, leaving him to be shut down in privacy, so he could feel his shame in solitude.

"I thought you hated me."

And Daryl nearly crumpled down, his knees hitting the concrete hard just before the bed, body resting between your knees. He freed his wrist from your hold and placed both on the back of your neck gently, fingers tangling into hair and then together. His eyes were almost too much to look into.

"No…no, I…" Daryl stuttered before snapping his mouth shut, his teeth making a comical clack. He couldn't tell you he loved you, not now. Because you were hurt and vulnerable and he only just realized this yesterday. And right now, it wasn’t the right time. It was daunting, and he had everything to lose.

"The opposite?" You whispered, hoping to calm his frantic eyes. And he shook his head, a small motion you almost missed, but you saw it. The opposite. And Daryl could settle with you knowing right now that he opposite-of-hates you. It would hold him over until he felt brave enough to tell you more confidently, and hopefully give him time to convince you that loving him back wouldn't be such a bad thing.

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