Lost ; Daryl Dixon

Chapter 40

Daryl wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't anymore. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, dreams and hallucinations merging and becoming one, messing with his mind, the pain less now though the blood continued to ooze from his body. His mouth was dry and parched, his stomach churning, and he knew that if the blood loss didn't kill him soon, the dehydration would. He wasn't afraid. Fear had come and gone. He was resigned to his fate, favouring death over becoming the bait that would bring his girl to these monsters. He kept seeing her, leaning over him, running her hands over his face, her fingers dancing across his lips, as she watched his life slowly ebbing away. He took comfort in her touch, revelling in the affection in her eyes, something he hadn't seen for too long. Then he'd blink, and she'd be gone, only to return a few moments later, shimmering in and out of existence like a ghost.

He could sense movement around him, camp life going on as usual, the inhabitants not paying him any mind as they went about their business. He wasn't even sure he was being guarded anymore, too weak for them to bother sparing the manpower to keep an eye on him. He could hear voices but he couldn't make out what they were saying, didn't bother to use his waning energy to strain his ears, knowing it was of no benefit to him to listen in to their conversations. There were only five of them left. No matter what they were planning, they'd die out eventually, their archaic practices and ritualistic torture becoming extinct. It was just a matter of time now. Alexandria may not have got the job finished, but one of these days another community would.

His brain was flooded with regrets, every single one of them concerning Y/N. He felt like he'd let her down in so many ways and now he was never going to get the chance to make it right. If only he hadn't thrown himself at Negan that night in the clearing, if he hadn't landed that punch. Maybe then Glenn would be alive, maybe he wouldn't have seen fit to take the archer as his prisoner, and then Y/N in his place when he escaped. Maybe she'd have been able to help him keep a hold of himself as the battles raged, and maybe he'd have been able to keep her safe. If only he hadn't been stupid enough to believe the words of an embittered, beaten Savior. If only he'd talked to her about the worries in his head.

He remembered so clearly being reunited with her after they'd escaped Terminus. He'd given her the ring he'd made for her, but scoffed at the idea of marriage, just wanting something to show that she belonged to him. If he had the chance now, he'd marry her tomorrow. He wanted to be hers, for her to be his. Hell, he wanted it all with her now that he knew he'd never have it. The wedding, the vows, the babies that might follow. He'd always had this nagging doubt in his head that he'd end up like his Dad, that he shouldn't let himself have any of those things in case he messed it all up, messed his kids up like his father had done to him, but with Y/N he just knew that wouldn't happen. They'd make it work. They should have made it work.

His thoughts were so fixated on her, that when he heard her voice screaming his name, he half-expected to see her leaning over him again, brushing the hair back out of his face and giving him a soft smile. But then the earth around him exploded in a shower of bullets and he was forced to curl himself up into a ball to shelter himself from the dirt that flew up and settled back over him as chaos broke out in the camp. He lifted his head to try and see her, determined to figure out whether it was his imagination or whether she was really there fighting for him, but all he could see was dust and the sparks of gunfire, and then a strong arm was wrapping around his neck and hauling him upright, supporting his weight as icy cold metal pressed against his throat, a groan escaping him as the movement put pressure on his broken ankle. He couldn't tell who had him, couldn't tell what was going on at all. The noise was deafening, overwhelming, and as the grip that held him tightened, the world began to spin.