Lost ; Daryl Dixon

Chapter 3

You sat, desolate and alone, on your bedroom floor, tears running down your cheeks as your brain continued to throw up images of Daryl as you'd last seen him, bruised and broken, a shadow of the man you knew. You'd barely recognised him, this hunched over, cowering ghost, but when the realisation had hit you, you'd had to try to go to him, knowing that if you could just wrap your arms around him, tell him you loved him, you could revive his spirit just a little, maybe enough to keep him going through whatever came next. But no, Negan couldn't even let you have that. You had bruises on your waist where his fingers had dug into you as he held you back, his touch burning as he'd stroked your face, brushing away your tears. You'd wanted to lash out at him, punch him, kick him, tear him down, but you could see the guns trained on the archer and knew the price would be too high.

Since then, you'd barely moved. Back at the farm, when Beth had fallen into a catatonic state after the group had slaughtered the corpses of her family, you'd thought her weak, pathetic. Now, you could understand. You had no desire to move, no motivation to eat or sleep or carry out the menial tasks that the community required of you. So, you sat in your room, huddled in the corner, and wallowed in your misery. It was bad enough when Daryl just wasn't there, but seeing the state he was in, the way he was obviously being treated, had made it so much worse. Now, you couldn't even pretend that he was okay, and that last little bit of ignorance being stripped away from you had torn your heart to pieces.

A knock at your bedroom door forced you to lift your head to take in your visitor, but you didn't bother to greet Rick when he stepped inside. He'd taken to visiting you every couple of days, just to check in, but you just couldn't give him what he wanted. You couldn't pretend to be okay, to be coping. You didn't want to. You just wanted to suffer as if in some way you might share Daryl's pain.

'Y/N, you doing okay?'

You glared up at your leader as he stood over you, shifting uncomfortably when you didn't bother to respond.

'Look, I've got some news, but I need you to promise that you're not gonna do anything stupid, alright?'

You felt a flicker of hope in your chest at Rick's earnest expression, but buried it deep, knowing you couldn't afford to let yourself be disappointed on top of the pit of despair that had consumed you.

'He escaped, Y/N. Daryl, he... he got out.'

You were on your feet in an instant, scrubbing at your damp face with your fists as you stepped towards the sheriff, your voice low and pleading. 'Where is he? Is he okay?'

'He's fine, a little rundown, but he's doing okay. He's at the Hilltop, but Y/N-'

You'd heard enough, already grabbing your pack from the back of the door and making for the stairs, taking them two at a time as you sped out of the house.

'Y/N!' you heard Rick calling from behind you as you sprinted down the street, heading for the cars parked up by the gate. Daryl was back. It was all you could focus on. Daryl was alive and free and you needed to go to him, to see it for yourself. 'Y/N, stop!'

A hand on your arm halted you in your tracks, spinning you sharply round to meet Rick's steely gaze. 'You have to stop. When Negan figures out he's a prisoner down, where do you think is the first place he's gonna look? If you're not here, he'll know you're with him. Hell, you could lead them right to him.'

'But-'

'Twenty four hours, Y/N. That's all I'm asking you for. You know he's safe, you know he's protected. Just wait another day.'