in a dark meadow | daryl dixon

infected

word count: 6104

 two months later

"I think 'ya should sit this one out."

Avery sighed into the sheets, not having yet arisen from beneath her mound of blankets. She could hear Daryl moving around their cell, sorting through his piles of clothes as he dressed himself for the day.

"And why's that?"

"Rick could use yer help in the yard."

"Oh yeah?" She snorted, the sound nearly muffled beneath her fleece blanket. She threw it off her head, revealing a tangled mess of brunette hair. Daryl kept the amusement from showing on his face. "You gonna tell me the real reason?"

"Just... 'Ya ain't gotta go. We got plenty of people for today."

Avery knew that was a lie - they never had enough people. He didn't want her to go. She hadn't gone out on a supply run since they returned to the prison.

Though she concealed it well, Daryl could tell she wasn't fully healed from what had happened on the road. He'd find her distracted, often - lost in her own thoughts and asking Daryl to repeat whatever he'd just told her. He needed her to be sharp beyond the prison walls. Distraction was a death sentence.

"And if I insist on going anyways?"

She propped herself up on her elbows when silence followed her question. The blanket fell from her chest, revealing her rumpled camisole and the thin white scar above her sternum. He shrugged, averting his gaze.

"Can't stop 'ya."

She pursed her lips for a moment, seemingly satisfied with his response. "Fine. I won't go."

He stopped what he was doing, turning to face her. "Yeah?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't look so pleased about it."

He smirked at her, hiding the relief that rushed through his body. She watched him, her eyes falling over the worn fabric of his utility pants, his sheathed hunting knife, and the cracked leather of his angel wing vest. He packed a light backpack and his crossbow was propped up against the corner of their cell, ready to go.

If she'd been honest, she'd admit her decision to go on this supply run weighed on her all night. A part of her wanted to go, to maybe prove something to herself, but a bigger part of her did not mind staying back.

Daryl had no problem returning to his laborious duties at the prison. When they returned, a little over a week after he was stabbed, Daryl and Avery were swarmed with questions: Where were you? What happened? Are you okay? The two blamed their delay on the broken down car and left it at that. Neither one of them mentioned they made it all the way to Charlotte, or their run-in with Julie and her men. It was behind them.

But the knife wound left a nasty scar on Daryl's abdomen. Avery could feel guilt sweep through her, stomach bottoming out whenever she looked at the gnarled flesh. How she'd nearly got him killed. Her fault.

"Where 'ya at, sunshine?"

She blinked, her expression softening. "I'm here."

Daryl observed the dark crescents below her eyes. He found her awake in the middle of the night last night - terrors plaguing her sleep more frequently lately. Whenever she jolted herself awake, she would press herself closer to Daryl on the mattress, and he'd thread his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest. He'd hold her until she calmed down, more than willing to sacrifice his sleep for hers. He wished he could do more.