Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Blood and Ash

Daryl POV

I knew something was wrong.

I'd known it the moment we got back to the Kingdom and Red faded into the background, moving like she could make herself small enough to disappear. She stayed close to the walls, eyes down, shoulders tight, like she was trying not to take up space in a world that had already taken too much from her. She'd gone quiet in a way that scraped at my nerves, not the steady, familiar quiet she wore when she was thinking or tracking, but the brittle kind. The kind that came before something broke.

I'd watched her out of the corner of my eye all evening, that gnawing feeling in my gut growing sharper with every hour. I wanted to go to her. To touch her. To pull her into my chest and remind myself she was still here, still breathing, still mine. But if I knew anything about my wife, it was that pushing her when she closed herself off only made her retreat further. She needed time.

Time to grieve.

Time to bleed out guilt that never belonged to her.

Time to mourn people she'd failed in her own mind, even if the rest of us knew better.

So I gave it to her.

And that was my mistake.

Between burying our dead and trying to keep the rest of our family standing upright, I let my guard down. I forgot who she was beneath the grief. I forgot what the world had carved into her long before the dead ever started walking. I forgot that Red didn't know how to sit still with pain.

She hunted it.

By the time I remembered, it was already too late.

I jolted awake in the dark, heart pounding, breath coming sharp and uneven. The room felt wrong immediately, too quiet, too still, like the air itself was holding its breath. My back screamed in protest as I pushed myself upright from the couch, muscles stiff and aching from sleeping twisted at a bad angle. I didn't remember laying down. One second I'd been holding Maggie while she cried herself hollow, her grief soaking into my skin, and the next the world had gone black.

Now it felt cold, empty, wrong, as if the world already knew something terrible had happened and was waiting for us to catch up.

I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to shake off the haze, trying to convince myself this unease was nothing more than exhaustion. The last of the funerals were scheduled for later today. After that...our focus would shift like it always did.

To the Whisperers.

To War.

To making sure we killed every last one of them.

I pushed to my feet and started up the stairs, every step heavier than the last, my knees aching, my chest tight. I passed the twins' room without stopping, telling myself I'd check on them after. I needed Red first. Needed one quiet moment with her before the house woke up and the day swallowed us whole.

I eased our bedroom door open.

The bed was untouched.

The sight of it hit me like a gut punch. Cold slid down my spine, sharp and immediate, and my pulse kicked into overdrive. The blankets were smooth. Undisturbed. No dent in the mattress. No sign she'd ever been there.

"Red?" I whispered, even though I already knew.

My body moved before my brain could catch up. I crossed the hall in three long strides and shoved open the twins' door hard enough to rattle the frame.

They were still asleep.

Relief crashed into me so fast it nearly dropped me to my knees. Dom had crawled into his sister's bed sometime during the night, limbs tangled together, faces slack with innocent sleep. Chief was on his feet instantly, a low growl vibrating in his chest until he recognized me and his tail started thumping, ears pricked and confused.