The Walking Dead Imagines

Problems | Part 2

The next morning, Daryl was still sitting watch outside the barn as he had promised you when some movement up at the farmhouse caught his eye. He straightened up when he saw it was you stepping onto the porch. He immediately started heading over and met you at the steps. The bruising on your arm from your boyfriend's hand and fingers and on your face from where he had hit you had darkened overnight and his stomach twisted and clenched with anger. The split in your bottom lip glared out against the delicate pink around it, a dark crimson slice.

"Hey. Are ya alright?" His blue eyes were narrowed in concern.

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay." You glanced over at the makeshift campsite. It was quiet and still. "Everyone still sleeping?" you asked.

"Mhm," he hummed. "Ya sure ya should be up and about? Ya got a concussion."

"I'm okay." You gave him a long look and Daryl waited. He could sense you were on the edge of saying something. You tried to gulp down the nerves. "Would you—will you take me to go talk to him?"

Daryl's brow furrowed more deeply. "Ya dun owe him anythin'," he drawled. The gravel was heavier in his voice than usual.

"I know. I just—I have some things I need to say," you said, crossing your arms over your chest and hugging them tightly to you.

Daryl nudged his nose up at you in a nod. He turned to lead the way but you called him back.

"Daryl—" There was worry and anxiety etched in your brow and somehow the archer knew what you were trying to ask.

"I won't leave ya alone with him. Don't worry."

You gulped, grateful that he understood implicitly, immediately. You went down the steps and fell into stride beside him.

"How'd ya sleep? Ya get some rest?" he asked, casting a sideways glance in your direction. It almost physically hurt him when his eyes hitched on your injuries.

You nodded. "A little. Except Hershel had someone coming in to wake me up every hour or so... I guess that's to make sure I wasn't going into a coma after the—the concussion..."

Daryl felt that familiar burn of rage in his chest. "Is it that serious?" he asked, stopping dead. "Maybe ya really shouldn't be up. We should get ya—"

"I'm fine. I think he was just being cautious," you countered.

Daryl gulped under the fixed gaze of your eyes but ultimately nodded and started toward the barn again.

"Did you get any sleep?" you asked kindly, concern in your tone.

Daryl shrugged vaguely. "Nah. But s'alright. Wanted to make sure he was locked up and couldn't get to ya. Once the others are up, I'll catch a few hours."

You gave him a grateful smile, feeling your cheeks warm a little with a blush. "Thanks for that." He only nodded.

Finally, you both arrived at the barn and Daryl unlocked the door and paused with his hand on the latch. "Ya sure?" You looked a little afraid, but you nodded. He swung the door open and followed you inside. He passed in front of you as you crossed the space to a huddled figure leaning partially up against the opposite wall, half-slumped over toward the dirt floor. Daryl rushed up to him and kicked the bottom of his boot hard. "Wake up, dumbass!" he growled.

He stirred and lifted his head. You could see that his face was bloody and bruised, with one eye completely swollen shut, the result of Daryl's fists the day before. You felt sick when he noticed you were there, his whole body language changed. His whole demeanor changed, but you knew it was just all an act.