Welcome To Evangrove - A Walking Dead ff

Chapter 4 - Hallucinations

She stands above him, now, caught in the glistening reflection of wet, shiny snow, and what sunlight creeps through the thick dead trees around them, and she looks like a mirage of familiar beauty. The years had been kind to her, at least physically, as all that extra weight and fear from her slouched figure had formed into a strong, towering and slim young woman. That hair - he noted with a hint of sadness - had grown from his slouchy small cut into long brunette hair that was held in a ponytail, though a few strands were in her eyes.

Those eyes.

“What the fuck?” Quinn lowers her weapon, a bow and arrow, one dog circling Merle as the other sits by her side, sniffing the air absently. “What are you - what do you think you’re doing?” She was confused, and angry, and had begun to back up. The dog stopped it’s review of the Dixon and brought it’s attention to her, one loud bark as if to ask if she were well. She moves further back, hazel eyes glancing from Merle to Daryl, then bolts. Off into the dead forest she runs, collapsing briefly when she’s snagged on a branch. This gives enough time for Merle to once again, give chase, and follow her through the patterns of the snow that she left behind her. Dogs bark wildly, Daryl calls after him, and she’s begging for him to stop following her, to go away, you're not real, why are you doing this to me? But of course he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t stop, and calls out to her “”I am real, I’m here. Please stop running.” Finally her legs carry her no more and her knees fall into the snow, a sob escapes her, and she curls up on her legs. Her dogs are gone, having dashed off without her, and for a moment it’s just them.

He throws himself at her, scrambling towards her as best and quickly as a one handed man could. Merle tries to hug her, though his mind is racing and he doesn’t quite know if this is the right thing to do, but she pushes him away. Again he puts his hands around her, though when she struggles this time it’s much, much weaker than before, and she just sinks into his arms and sobs into her own. This is release and captivity in the same moment.

Daryl stumbles upon the scene just seconds later, but keeps his distance, and lingers around a tall, thick tree, bark as black as his brother’s leather jacket that was around his shoulders. Crossbow is still gripped tightly in hand, the adrenaline still courses through his body, and his breath remains haggard and heavy as he takes in the scene before him. At this point, with the dead walking and what he’s gone through, nothing is too insane to believe, but even this has caught him off guard. Her sobs still fill the air, but they are accompanied by Merle’s quiet hushings, in a voice he had never heard his brother speak in since their childhood. It’s tender and soft, and his words match his tone. He wants to say something, maybe chip in that he’s happy to see her too though it’s the farthest from the truth, however he remains silent and allows them this simple moment. He needed it, after all these years. This world did not permit, however, something like this, as another man came into the midst just a moment later he had finally caught his breath.

“You get the hell away from her right now, you piece’a shit.” This man was far too small for his words to pose any real threat - it was the gun he held in his trembling hands that did. His face and body were thin, voice matching it’s host, and he was clad in mildly inappropiate clothes for the weather - a thin flannel shirt, open, revealing an eggshell white wife beater splattered with what appeared to be old blood. The dogs returned, and were several feet behind him.

“Put the gun down.” Daryl warns, his voice much more commanding than his opposer’s.

“Issac, no, it’s okay.” Quinn says, peaking out of Merle’s large, encompassing embrace. “Issac, listen to him. I’m fine.”

“But he’s -”

“Isaac.”

Reluctantly he lowers his guns, though this does nothing to stifle the growling of either hound. Isaac doesn’t seem to be too convinced of her safety, and so makes a move towards her, to which Daryl responds with a sudden movement forward; he could care less about Quinn, nobody was hurting his brother. Quinn spoke softly to the older Dixon, who subsequently lowered his arms and allowed her to crawl a few steps away and stand up, and dust off what snow clung to her warm body. Her clothes were damp in several places, darkening blotches on her dirty threads.

“I heard you screaming and then the boys came, I - I thought you were hurt.”

“Far from it.” She mumbles, lips curling into a mild smile as she walks towards him. When she’s close enough, her hands wrap around his in a way too friendly and she slides the gun from his weakening grip, still smiling. “You’re gonna hurt yourself with that, y’know.”

Daryl clears his throat.

“These are some, uh, old friends of mine. From Georgia.” Isaac peeks over her shoulder. “When we get back, I’ll explain everything.” The younger Dixon remains wary of the situation. When he approaches Merle he still has his eyes trained on Isaac.

“This don’t seem right brother.” He finally casts his blue eyes down and meets with Merle’s, which is slicker than usual. He was crying.

“Like a got’damn fairy tale.” Merle responds.

“That’s what m’ sayin’ - this don’t feel right. Don’t feel real.”

“Let me have this, Daryl.” The sudden depravity in his voice catches him in an odd way, makes him instantly guilty. He swallows, looking away from his brother.

“You guys, uh, follow us.” Quinn wanders into sight, seemingly oblivious to Merle’s cacophony of emotions. She extends her hand to him, and he accepts it, raising himself off the white earth.

“Where to?” Merle asks.

“Evangrove.” She replies.