𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 // 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯

ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴀʏ

The smell of wet wood floods my head, awakening me from what feels like an everlasting sleep. I don't know how I got here but the brooding Daryl standing in the corner is a little hint.

He has his arms crossed, his muscles tightly wrapped around him. And it's as if he's not breathing, standing perfectly still.

I'm laying on my side, a nauseous feeling swallowing me whole. There's a dried up liquid along my chin and lips.

My voice comes out strained, barely a whisper, "Daryl?" He doesn't respond but I know he's heard me. I know he has because he unwraps his arms, letting them fall to his sides.

He just stares at me, an unreadable and strange look on his tired face. And we stay like this for a while, just staring at each other.

I take this time to study him. I always thought I knew everything I could know about him, but I don't. I only know as much as he was willing to tell me. And it's not easy to read Daryl Dixon.

He's still the Daryl I met at the beginning of all this, just a little more quiet, more isolated. I'd like to think he's not as angry, that maybe somehow I helped him with that. But he's standing, watching me with a scowl on his face. And then his words from the prison, the last words I thought I would ever hear from him again, pop into the back of my head.

 And were right back to square one. It's as if we never left Atlanta. And suddenly, no matter how much I don't want to feel this way, I accept the fact that I am indeed weak.

"Daryl?" I ask again. Though my voice is shaky, it's stronger this time and surprisingly, I sound scared. He lifts his head a little higher, shifting it to the side.

"Scar?"

A breathy laugh escapes my lips, 'Don't call me that." I order.  "How did I get here?"

The damp wood smell making me nauseous is due to the fact that we're in a cabin. It's small and doesn't have much besides a bed and a tiny reclining chair.  This must have been the cabin Michonne told me they had found when they were on a run together. Isn't that funny, how he would go on runs just to get away from me and then Michonne would have to tell me about them.

Daryl coughs twice, awkwardly fidgeting with his weapon. "I carried ya."

"You what?"

"Carried ya."

I sit up a bit, resting my head on my hand. "You carried me all the way here?" He coughs again and I wonder how much he's been smoking lately.

 "Ya wat was I supposed to do, leave ya?"

There's the Daryl I know. I shake my head, letting it fall against the plush pillow below. "You were dead" I tell the ceiling. I hear him shift again but I don't look.

"So were you"

The cabin falls silent, the only noises are those outside. It must be a walker, it growls loudly against a window.

 "You gonna get that?" I ask, a glare on my face. I can tell Daryl's getting annoyed by the way he storms out of the cabin.

His heavy boots thunk against the hardwood floor as he whips the door open, letting it slam shut. The walker gets closer to the door and my heart almost starts beating faster but the sound of an arrow hitting its skull echoes into the cabin and I sigh.

Walking back in quickly, a vein pops on his neck and his face is red, hands already shaking. "What we're ya thinking?" He screams, chucking his crossbow onto the chair.