Between Arrows and Hearts - Daryl Dixon

Nebraska's nice

The two men who entered the bar immediately set Cass on edge. One was thin, with the sleeves of his shirt torn off in a way that vaguely reminded her of Daryl. The other was heavier, wearing a white t-shirt and a hat, with a shotgun slung across his chest.

They walked in fully, and settled into chairs with a casualness that didn't match the tension in the air. Rick poured them each a shot, his movements steady but measured. Cass instinctively moved behind the bar, feeling a knot of unease in her stomach. Glenn followed her, positioning himself at her side.

"I'm Dave," The thinner man said with an easy confidence, leaning back in his chair. He jerked a thumb toward his companion. "That scrawny looking douche bag there is Tony."

"Eat me, Dave." Tony snapped, though he didn't bother to tear his eyes away from Cass. His gaze made her skin crawl.

"Hey, maybe someday I will." Dave shot back with a grin before turning to Rick. "We met on the I-95 coming out of Philly. Damn shitshow that was."

"I'm Glenn. It's nice to meet some new people." Cass stiffened, shooting Glenn a pointed look, silently willing him to shut up. She wished he'd notice her discomfort, but it seemed like Rick and Hershel had already caught on.

"Rick Grimes." The sheriff introduced himself, handing Glenn a shot and setting one aside for himself.

Dave's eyes shifted to Cass, a lazy smirk spreading across his face. "You?"

Tony leaned forward slightly, his gaze crawling over her. "Bet a pretty girl like you got a pretty name."

Cass ignored Tony entirely, her eyes locked on Dave. "Cass." She said curtly.

"Woman of few words." Dave quipped, unfazed.

"Not much to say." She replied.

Dave's grin widened. "Nice accent. You're not from around here, huh?"

Cass gave a small shake of her head, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation. Dave didn't push it, turning his attention to Hershel instead. "How about you, pal? Have one?"

"I just quit." Hershel replied flatly.

Dave chuckled, raising his glass. "You've got a unique sense of timing, my friend."

"His name's Hershel." Rick explained. "He lost people today, a lot of them."

Dave's expression softened. "I'm truly sorry to hear that." He raised his glass. "To better days and new friends. And to our dead... may they be in a better place."

Everyone —except Hershel and Cass— took a drink,  when Dave set his glass down, a glint of metal caught Rick's attention. A gun stuck out from the waistband of his jeans.

Noticing Rick's gaze, Dave casually pulled it out, holding it up for display. "Not bad, huh? I got it off a cop."

Rick's face didn't waver. "I'm a cop."

"This one was already dead." Dave smiled.

Cass glanced toward Tony, whose gaze hadn't left her. He was staring at her like a predator sizing up prey, his eyes crawling over every part of her that the bar didn't hide.

Rick, unfazed, pressed on. "You fellas are a long way from Philadelphia."

"It feels like we're a long way from anywhere." Dave replied, his voice tinged with dry humor.

"Well, what drove you south?" Rick asked, taking another slow sip of his drink.

Dave shrugged. "Well, I can tell you it wasn't the weather." He smirked. "I must've dropped thirty pounds in sweat alone down here."