Lost ; Daryl Dixon

Chapter 13

Daryl knew he couldn't have been unconscious for long as, when his eyes flickered open, he could still see the fresh tears on the women's' faces as they stared down at him. A cold metal blade was held to his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the end, but a scream from the small group by the bushes drew the attention of his attacker.

'Tommy, no! Not in front of the children!'

'The bastard killed James and Richard, Sarah!'

'I don't care! I don't want Jackson to see his daddy take a life!'

'Then take the kids away, cos I'm ending this son of a bitch!'

'Tommy!'

The man leaning over Daryl growled in frustration but backed up, leaving the archer panting on the ground, rubbing at his neck where the knife had nicked his skin.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, unable to meet the eyes of the families of the men he'd killed. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Yeah, well, sorry ain't gonna bring their daddies back, is it?' Tommy snarled, aiming another kick at his ribs. 'Get the hell out of here or I swear to God I will take your damn head off.'

Daryl cast his eyes to the cabin for a moment, but knew he had no choice but to move on. No doubt the people gathered around him would want to bury their dead and he was in no position to tell them they couldn't. He'd done enough.

Scrambling to his feet, careful not to turn his back on the man with the blade, he shouldered his crossbow, and made to leave, pausing to make an offer that he knew wasn't nearly good enough to make up for what he'd just taken from the group. 'S'a few rabbits inside. I already skinned 'em 'n' cleaned 'em up. S'not much but it'll feed y'all tonight.'

Nobody spoke as he walked away, picking his way through the trees, his mind reeling as he splayed his fingers over his bruised ribs, groaning quietly at the pain that throbbed through his torso. Why had he gotten so angry? They were just passing by, checking the place out. They hadn't deserved to die for that. They may well have been good people. Like half the workers that he'd killed at the Sanctuary during the war, they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like Y/N.

*****

Daryl could hear Y/N laughing as he slipped slowly back into consciousness, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face where he lay stretched out on the porch of one of the houses that had been assigned to the group. He'd struggled to sleep on the first night, not used to the comfort of a mattress, feeling hemmed in by the walls around him, so they'd taken to sleeping outside, building a makeshift bed out of blankets and curling up together, staring out at the stars. He'd tried to insist to his girl that it wasn't necessary, yet still she made their little camp up each night, and it had become the only time he felt like he could really relax, with her in his arms, just the two of them, as the rest of the community slept.

Y/N giggled again, and Daryl cracked an eye open, pushing himself up on his elbows as he glanced around for her. She was standing on the bottom step of the porch, one of the blankets wrapped around her shoulders, talking to Spencer, one of Deanna's sons. He'd noticed that Spencer had a habit of loitering on the road out the front of the house, and initially had thought it was due to his wariness about the newcomers, but, as time wore on, he'd realised that it was actually Y/N holding his interest. The slimeball was grinning at her now, his eyes sweeping over her, as he leaned in close, his voice lowered, Daryl supposed, so as not to disturb him. Well, he was damn disturbed, and he levered himself to his feet, thudding across the porch and snaking his arm around Y/N's waist.