Daryl Dixon x Reader One-shots

"Call it Plan B. Hell, call it plan Z. But I'm packing the good drugs."

*Set in season 6*

The heart monitor beeped rhythmically and Denise sighed, pulling the thermometer from Scott's mouth. His skin was a sickly shade. We didn't need a thermometer or a heart monitor to know that he was doing badly - and it didn't help that the infirmary was excruciatingly low on medical supplies.

"So what do you need?" You asked Denise while scanning the empty shelves of the room, pen and paper in hand. Daryl was perched on the edge of the windowsill staring at Scott's weak body.
The bullet wound inflicted upon by Sturgess about a week prior wasn't showing any signs of improvement, and Alexandria's make-shift doctor was becoming increasingly worried. Desperate and anxious, she'd come to you and Daryl to ask for help.

"Painkillers, definitely. Antibiotics, too. Gauze, bandages, antiseptic," she listed the various items, counting each on her finger as she named them. You stopped writing halfway through 'antibiotics'; Denise was going way too fast. You sighed and balled up the paper, tossing at across the room at Daryl. The paper smacked him square in the face and he shot you a 'what the hell?' look.

"Pay attention, Dixon. We're doing this together." 

The archer shot up off the windowsill and brushed past you.

"Yeah, yeah. Medicine and shit. Got it," he said flippantly and you rolled your eyes. Offering Denise a reassuring smile, you left the room and followed Daryl to the armory.

After grabbing the necessary weapons, the two of you hopped into a crappy blue truck and headed out of the community and towards a pharmacy about an hour's drive out. The drive felt short, and soon enough the old brakes were screeching the truck to a halt outside a dilapidated building.

The parking lot was littered with papers and other trash tumbling around lightly in the breeze, while a few walkers limped aimlessly around in front of the building. 

"Ready?" Daryl asked you as the two of you made your quiet exit from the truck, weapons raised. You nodded. As you approached, the walkers suddenly found direction and started walking towards the both of you, jaws snapping hungrily. It wasn't long before the half-a-dozen grotesque corpses were stilled and lifeless on the paving, easily taken out by your knife and Daryl's crossbow.

Without the snarls of the dead, the sound of your footsteps seemed loud as you walked towards the pharmacy. A few of the windows were smashed in but the glass doors seemed to still be locked in place.
Silently you said a prayer and hoped that it hadn't totally been ransacked. Scott's life - and maybe many others in the future - depended on these supplies.

Daryl carefully maneuvered himself through the broken window before offering you a hand, which you gratefully took.

"Stay behind me," the man instructed gruffly. The two of you had been a great team since you first arrived at the prison, and you'd frequently go on runs together. Despite the number of times you'd proved your capabilities, Daryl seemed to always be protective of you. It was kind of annoying, but it also left your heart feeling warm and you couldn't help but be grateful for the over-protective asshole with the angel-wing vest.
Ignoring him, you remained next to him as the two of you scanned the building. Much to your relief, it was clear of walkers. Unfortunately it also seemed to be clear of anything remotely useful; the shelves were barren and dusty, save for a box of condoms.
Upon further inspection you saw that it was grape flavor, and you shoved it inside your mostly empty backpack. Daryl eyed you incredulously, making you blush.

"What?" You said defensively, feeling as if you'd just been caught doing something inappropriate. "People back home might need 'em. Not everyone is celibate like you, Dixon," you teased and kept walking, ignoring the way he gawked at you.