Daryl Dixon Imagines

Claimed

By thewalkingdeadimaginings on Tumblr

How did it end up like this? The prison was gone, the entire group was scattered, and now Beth was gone, kidnapped by god only knows. And now Daryl was stuck with a group of men he was all too familiar with, the type of guys he’d spent time with growing up.

“Every man for himself,” their leader, Joe had said, “Just one word: claimed. Claim anything and it’s yours. That’s all you gotta do. Claim it.”

It was a ridiculously stupid rule and Daryl never intended on using it. He’d sleep on the floor before he “claimed” any bed. Probably wouldn’t have mattered even if he cooperated and played their game. One of the guys, Len, didn’t like Daryl at all so he was sure Len would dispute any kind of claim anyways. But being with these guys was better than trying to survive alone.

You had never really known anything but loneliness since they world ended. Yes, you’d been part of many groups but they never lasted. Either they all died or they all turned to evil you couldn’t bear to participate in. It made more sense to travel alone now. Occasionally, you stayed with a group but you never stayed for very long. Just long enough to recharge and to not forget what human interaction felt like. You weren’t an animal after all.

After a long morning of nonstop walking, you decided to sit down and have some lunch, opening up a can of peaches. It had been such a long time since you’d had fruit even if it was in a can and loaded with sugary syrup. It was a change from the usual canned beans at least.

You scooped a big spoonful of sugary peaches into your mouth, some syrup falling from the corner of your mouth. You quickly wiped it away with your wrist before it could drip off your chin. As you quickly chewed and swallowed, a twig snapped behind you and you dropped the rest of your can, syrup and peaches spilling and soaking into the dirt. Whipping your body around the tree you were leaning against, you raised your gun at a white haired man with a shotgun pointed at you with seven other men surrounding him with their weapons raised. There was only one man who didn’t have his weapon raised and that was the one standing behind the white haired man’s right shoulder, a crossbow hanging in his grip, dark hair covering his eyes that were focused on the ground.

Was the man their prisoner? No, that couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t have a weapon on him if he was. So why did he seem so composed and shy compared to these other men, who looked at you up and down with hunger in their eyes, which wasn’t any more surprising to you than the murder you usually saw in people’s eyes.

“What’re you doin’ out here all alone?” the white haired man said.

“Minding my own business,” you retorted, “Please, just keep going. I’ll do the same and we don’t have to get bloody.”

“Ooh, she got a mouth on her,” a scrawny, greasy looking man with a bow and arrow spoke up, “Doesn’t she, Joe?”

The white haired man, Joe gave the greasy man a nod, “That she does, Len. What’s your name little lady?”

“Y/N,” you said, using one hand to pack up your things, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m just gonna be going now. No tricks, ya got it?”

“Ya know,” Len said, tapping Joe’s arm, “She ain’t half bad lookin’ don’t ya think?”

“I agree,” another, chubbier man grinned as he eagerly agreed, “Pretty little thing.”