That filled me with the hope to wish impossible things"
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***
This isn't real.
"...I will cut pieces off of Daryl and Grace and put them on your doorstep. Or, better yet, I will bring them to you and have you do it for me."
This isn't happening. This isn't real. Wake up, Grace. This isn't real. Just wake up.
"Ahh... welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits! I'm gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the crap you're gonna find me. We'll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then... ta-ta."
Negan sauntered off and the Saviors followed suit, making their way to their vehicles. She glanced at Daryl. He was sat beside her, eyes fixed to the floor of the van. His hands were trembling.
She'd never seen him so scared before.
The sound of engine vibrations filled her ears. Blood. Murder. Screams. Glenn. Abraham. Her mind was on a constant loop.
Daryl's sudden movements pulled her out of her state. He tore a strip from his shirt and wrapped it around her wound, blood streaming down her hand and through the cotton.
Her body was in shock and her mind was racing to try and catch up with the horror of what had just happened. It couldn't. She was gone– teetering between losing her mind and going completely numb. The latter seemed to have won.
She went to a place she's been many times before. It's how she survived. Her body knew how to just stop feeling.
Grace watched the blood trickle down her hand as Daryl's hands tried to stop the bleeding to no avail. Gently, she pulled his hand away and cocked her head to the side to meet his tear-filled eyes.
"I'm fine," she breathed and grasped the wound herself, elevating her arm to slow the bleeding.
One of the Saviors managed to cut her in the midst of it all. Just because he could. He enjoyed every second of it, running the sharp blade down her forearm, slowly twisting it, watching her squeal in pain.
Daryl stared at her for a few seconds before breaking his gaze and nodding meekly, "jus' keep holdin yer arm up."
There was nothing more that could be done. They sat in silence on their way to what she could only presume was hell. Both empty, broken and lifeless.
She'd been so blissfully ignorant to the potential of ever encountering pure evil in human form. Alexandria was a romantic haven to those far away from the turmoil that is the apocalypse. It's easy to forget the end of the world brings out the worst human nature has to offer. She had so foolishly forgotten. Until last night.
The car bumped and shook as gravel pattered up against it. Her heart was thudding in her chest as the comforting numbness began to fade and panic took its place. Her limbs were shaking and she felt a churning in her stomach, like she was going to throw up.
"S' my fault," Daryl hummed, his voice full of agony.
"Daryl, no," she held his calloused hand, "it's not your fault."
He didn't respond. He couldn't. Grace knew the guilt was going to eat Daryl alive. He felt responsible for what happened to Glenn. He was going to carry that with him and it was going to kill him.
"It's not. Don't you ever–"
The van came to an abrupt and jolting halt.
Her grip around his hand tightened. Daryl's thumb stroked her knuckles as they listened to the sounds of doors opening and shutting. Men hollering surrounded them from outside. She looked at him, mouth open, unable to say a word. She wanted to scream. She wanted to die.
He lifted his hand, still intertwined with hers, and wiped a stray tear on her cheek with his thumb.
"Yer gonna be alrigh', sunshine," he said softly, "Imma get us out, ya hear me?" She nodded, pulling her brows together and unable to hold his gaze, fighting the urge break out in a mess of cries.
Daryl– no matter how broken or stripped he was– was a survivor. And that's what gave her hope for him. It's also what shattered her heart.
Back in Alexandria, she wanted to show him that he didn't always have to have his guard up. That he could just be. He'd been stuck in survival mode his whole life, unsure of what love feels like.
And she tried. God, she tried so hard to give him that feeling. To show him what it really meant to have a friend. If anybody deserved love, it was Daryl Dixon.
He definitely tried too, in his own way.
On their morning walks in the woods, he'd talk incessantly about hunting tips and get mad when she'd interrupt him with something stupid, like getting excited over how a rock was shaped like a heart. She knew it frustrated him because he wanted her to know what he does. To teach her so that she felt secure.
They never talked about their relationship. Neither of them knew what it was. Their feelings for each other were always revealed through subtleties.
A few weeks ago, he visited her room. She guessed he just knew she felt off that day. She didn't know what it was or why she had felt so awful... she couldn't pinpoint it. Daryl brought over a bunch of Carol's surprisingly delicious beet and acorn cookies. They ended up laying down... just talking about the group, how they felt about everything. Somehow getting on the topic of how Grace had a crush on young Lemmy from Motörhead.
She snuggled into the crook of his neck to rest her eyes. He was so gentle and patient with her– always making sure she felt safe. Loved. He kissed her eyes knowing she'd cried for a really long time.
All of it was torn away last night. Forcing them back into the reality which Grace had been refusing to accept.
Now she understood that it is always survival mode. You either kill or be killed.
The back doors of the van opened wide.
"Welcome to The Sanctuary, lovebirds!" Simon exclaimed with a vile enthusiasm. He leaned over and wasted no time aggressively pulling Daryl by the arm and out of the van.
