Daryl Dixon x Reader One-shots

Daryl x Daughter!Reader: Part 4

"Just hang on okay? I'm gonna get you out of here."

That was the last thing you'd said to him in days, and you couldn't stop thinking about it. You made him a promise. Why did you make a promise that would be so hard to keep?

Your mind raced as you stared into the pitch black darkness of your room, fingers tracing the gnarly scarring of your skin. It had been a few days since you last spoke to your father; it was safer that way. Negan was sure of your loyalty enough that he didn't feel the need to constantly monitor you; however he did have some of the Saviors keeping a close eye on you. At least that's how it seemed. You'd noticed the not-so subtle sidelong glances they casted at you – Fat Joe, Dwight, Laura, Simon, everyone.

It's because they know and they think you're a traitor. Everyone thinks you're a traitor, and you know what Negan does to traitors.

"Shut up," you demanded. Desperate for a break from your tormenting mind, you hopped out of bed and marched blindly towards the dresser where you hid your treasure. You forcefully yanked open the bottom drawer, the hard wood slamming into your shins.

"Shit fuck dammit," you hissed in pain while desperately rubbing your now aching shins. Turning on a light sure would have helped. You really needed to be more careful. Turning your attention away from your throbbing legs, you reached into the drawer until your fingers touched the cool glass. You pulled the bottle out from its resting place and immediately twisted off the cap, taking a large swig. The alcohol burned your throat and you immediately wanted to gag. You hated vodka. So, so much.

Heaving a sigh you limped your way back to your bed and dropped down on the soft covers, taking another sip. It went down easier the second time; burned a little less. Sometimes things hurt less after a little while.

There could be something in the drink. Someone could have poisoned it. You could be dying right now.

God, you just wanted it to stop. You needed a clear head to figure things out. Figure things out... by yourself. Getting Daryl out was your first priority. It sounded easier than it was going to be; first things first, the Sanctuary was heavily guarded. Secondly, you had to find the key to your dad's cell – closet – whatever.

The thoughts floated around in your mind as if they were puzzle pieces longing to connect and form the perfect picture; the perfect plan. Only you had to do this yourself. None of the Saviours were going to help you free a prisoner. The idea alone was ludicrous. It wasn't as if anyone was going to hand you the keys to the cell with a bright smile on their face and a "wish your father safe travels! Goodbye now!"

A small giggle escaped your lips at the thought, but stopped when you remembered someone. How could you forget?

You jumped out of bed and rushed quietly towards the door, taking one last large gulp of vodka.

***

The door creaked slightly as you peeped into the room, eyes squinting against the darkness.

"Sherry?" Your whisper seemed loud against the silence that consumed the Sanctuary. The only sounds were of deep breathing and the muffled snarling of the dead ones on the fence outside the building. It wasn't unsettling. To you the silence was the norm – the result of insomnia.

"Sherry?" You repeated a little louder, though not loud enough to wake Negan in the next room. Your heart thumped loudly as you stared at the sleeping women, your eyes trained on Sherry's bed. She should be here – it wasn't her night with Negan.

"Sherr-"

A small scream began to escape right before a delicate hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you. You spun around to face the figure in the darkness. Even in the lack of light, you could easily identify her. What was she doing out of her room?