⤐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you le...
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⤐
Daryl couldn't see anything past the suffocating blackness of his cell, but he could feel the blood coating his hands, honeyed warmth dripping off his fingertips in slow, languid plops.
It'd make no difference if he'd opened his eyes, but he knew his surroundings—just as he knew the map of freckles spattering Zeppelin's cheeks, trailing down her throat and past her collarbone, leading him to that most sacred space inside her chest.
He knew the discarded Polaroid picture would taunt him if he looked to his right. To his left was a pile of moldy bread and slimy dog food. It didn't matter. All he knew was the blood on his hands. Glenn's blood. And Denise's. Veronica's. Beth's. Hershel's. Merle's. Sophia's.
It all swirled together on his hands, painting his fingertips with blazing strokes. A sharp ringing cried out in his head, keeping pace with each bated breath that struggled to escape his lungs. The ringing took on a form, molding into the voice he loved most.
It's all your fault, Zeppelin whispered in his ear. They're all dead because of you.
No, no, no. He didn't know if the words left his mouth.
Yes, she purred. And soon, I will be, too.
"No!" Daryl cried out as he shot out of their bed, his pulse frantic and hands shaking. The thin fabric of his shirt clung to the sheen of sweat pooling along his spine, and he tugged at it until cooler air swelled in.
It took his heart a few floundering moments to realize he was bathed in sunshine, the scent of Zepp's room, not cobwebs and his own filth. He swore silently, gritting his teeth hard as he swept unruly hair away from his eyes. Before his hand had even trailed over the pillow beside him and brushed the sheets' coolness, he felt her absence before he knew she was gone.
He knew there was no rational way to explain that sensation, but without Zeppelin nearby, he just felt... lost. Some instinct that lived within him gnawed at that emptiness, and a fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins.
Daryl's body moved without thought or command, tugging on boots and sliding the knife thrown on the table back into its holster. His blood roared in his ears. Time seemed to stretch endlessly before him, his steps all too slow as he reached for the door.
It opened. Zeppelin's face appeared on the other side. Daryl's heart began to slow.
"You didn't leave." He didn't mean to say it.
She closed the door behind her, leaning back against the paint-chipped wood. "I'm sorry. I was..."
