Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Rick Grimes Imagine

Rick Grimes Imagine--#2

Note: Hello, Lovies, and here is this LONG imagine, based on the book I had published a few months back. It ultimately failed, though I'm confidant with the things I have out now. My currents are this one, my poetry book, and my Daryl Dixon fanfiction, if anyone's interested. I'm working on a request from EmiLovesMusic, but last night I thought to publish this, and then it just happened. Enjoy :)

Warnings: Mature themes including gore, harsh language, alcohol, talking of suicide. Pretty much season one of the walking dead.

Rick Grimes Imagine

She stared at him. He stared right back. It was chocolate brown against baby blue, cutting stares that could make the strongest man look away. Niether of them yielded.

"You left my brother handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta." He nodded, hand over his pistol. "He was a danger to everyone, and-"

"Save the shit, man! You ain't gettin' it through her!" She held up her hand. "Daryl. We both know Merle can be hot-headed. Rick here just doesn't know how to deal with difficult people." She never once moved her gaze from Rick's.

"Doesn't matter either way, we're gonna go and get him. You and me, Daryl."

"And me. I dropped the key." T-Dog looked ashamed.

"I'm fast." Glenn was with T-Dog.

"I'll go too." She nodded to Rick. "Alright. Then we go and find Merle." She stepped back to look at Lori, Ricks wife. She looked absolutely disgusted. "You're really gonna waste your time on the duchebag Merle Dixon?" She turned to face Shane, knife extended to meet his throat. She settled it just above his Adam's apple. "You might want to re-think that, Shane. Otherwise you might find yourself a little bit choked up." He swallowed. "Hey baby doll. No need to get violent." She glared at him and slowly holstered her knife. "I also left a bag of guns. We'll get those too."

"Alright. We'll take the cube van. Is everyone ready?" Rick nodded, and they all piled into the van. The ride was absolutely silent. When they got there, Glenn spoke up first. "Guns first or Merle first?"

"That even a question?!" She put her hand on Daryl's chest. "No time for country justice, brother mine." She muttered into his ear, and then walked past him. "He's right. Merle first, then the guns."

They slowly made their way up through the department store, taking out walkers as they went. When they got up onto the roof, they were shocked at their findings. "A hand? Just a hand?" Daryl picked it up, sniffling. She sighed and took a dew rag out of her bag and tossed it at him. He wrapped the hand and put it in Glenn's. Before he could leave, she stopped him. "He's fine. He's fine." He pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and then they followed the rest of the group.

They found an iron, with melted pieces of flesh stuck onto it. "Told ya. Only one who can kill Merle's Merle."

"It would seem so. He's one tough SOB."

"Well, before we go lookin' for him we should get the guns, I'm not strollin' around Atlanta with just my good intentions." Glenn set the map out, and detailed the plan. "What were you before all this?"

"Pizza delivery boy. Why?" Daryl snorted. "No reason. We clear?"

"Yeah."

"Then what're we waitin for? C'mon."

Down in the alley, as Glenn snatched the guns, a skinny latino kid came barrling through. "Hey!" Daryl grabbed him by the shirt. "You seen some bastard called Merle?" Insted of answering, he started shouting for help. "Quiet!" She hissed. "Or you'll bring the dead right on top of us!" He didn't listen, he just kept shouting until finally Daryl put his hand over his mouth. It was too late. An old Lincon squealed to a stop in front of the ally, and four hispanic men exited.