IN WHICH - The last thing that Hope Mikaelson expected when she came out of Malivore was to still be alive, the second last thing she expected was to be disowned by most of her living family, and the final last thing she expected was some ancient be...
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THIRD PERSON POV
CHAPTER 9
Hope gritted her teeth as she half-dragged, half-supported Daryl through the dense woods. She refused to throw him over her shoulder and run, cause his dumbass would bitch the entire time and she had no desire to deal with that. But the walkers weren't far behind, and she contemplated just knocking him out and calling it even.
Daryl's head lolled to the side, and he muttered something under his breath, his voice slurred and uneven.
"Merle," he said, the name dripping with disdain and frustration. "Quit...messin' with me."
Hope glanced at him, concern flickering across her face. "Daryl, there's no one here but us," she said firmly, her voice low and steady.
But Daryl wasn't listening. His eyes, glassy with fever and pain, darted around as if seeing someone Hope couldn't. "Ain't gonna take orders from you," he growled, his tone filled with venom. "Always talkin', always pushin'. You don't know...nothin'."
"Daryl, snap out of it," Hope urged, shaking him a little harsher than she probably should have. She could feel his body weakening, his steps growing heavier as his strength ebbed away.
"Merle!" Daryl suddenly shouted, trying to shove away from her grip. "Get outta my head, you bastard!"
Hope nearly lost her balance but managed to steady them both. "Daryl, stop! It's not real!" she said, her voice sharper this time. But his struggles were erratic, his mind clearly somewhere else.
In his haze, Daryl's voice broke, softer now, almost like a plea. "Why'd you leave me? Huh? Always leavin'...everyone leaves..."
The words hit Hope like a punch to the gut. She'd seen this kind of delirium before, knew what it meant for someone to be lost in their own pain. "I'm not leaving," she said, her voice softer now. "But you have to stay with me, Daryl. Please."
But it was no use. His legs buckled, and his body went limp, his breathing shallow and uneven. Hope cursed under her breath as she adjusted her grip, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder. She hesitated only a moment before tapping into her werewolf strength, her muscles tightening as she lifted him into her arms like he weighed nothing.
She didn't have a plan, only a desperate need to get them both somewhere safe. The trees seemed endless, the shadows stretching long as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Her heightened senses picked up on the faint smell of mildew and old wood, and she followed it, her heart pounding in time with her hurried footsteps.
Finally, through the thick underbrush, she spotted it—a small, abandoned house, its windows cracked and its roof partially caved in. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. She pushed through the overgrown foliage and kicked the door open, her movements quick but careful as she carried Daryl inside.
