Mark of the Moon

by Acb6293

Summary:

The prison is home, but the woods still call to him. Out there, Daryl finds a sign carved into the bark, one that drags the past back into the present and leaves him chasing shadows and running from past demons.

Notes:

Here I am, posting in another fandom with a story no one asked for. But oh well, the muse wants what the muse wants. It won't be a long story, thinking five-ish chapters, the others longer than the first. This is my first time writing Daryl, so please let me know how I do!

Chapter 1: Don’t Mean Nothin’

Daryl walked through the woods. This was his second day out on a gathering mission. He’d hidden the truck he took a few miles north of where he was and was debating if it was time to go back or set up camp. He knew when he left the prison, he told the rest of the council he wouldn’t be out long, but sometimes it was really hard for him to go back. Don’t get him wrong, even though he’d never say it out loud, that place was home for him, the people there were his… family. But this is where he was meant to be, this is where he’d spent most of his life before the world went to shit, and he’d spend most of his life here after. 

 

Still, he felt like he was doing something wrong, that he should be back at the prison; he knew he was needed there, but he just couldn’t force himself to go back. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t working for the people, even all the way out here. He was grabbing all the supplies he found and marking every place down that was completely raided already.

 

He’d been tracking a deer for the last few miles, ready for some good eatin’ tonight. He never thought he’d say it, but he was getting tired of squirrel. He walked quietly as a mouse through the woods without even having to pay attention to it anymore; it had become second nature to him long ago. Finally, he found the deer and took a small step to the side to get a better aim. But he tripped over a branch he should have easily missed, and he would have if he hadn’t been distracted. 

 

The sound of the branch and his stumble immediately made the deer run. Normally, that’d really piss him off, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of what distracted him in the first place. His hand slowly reached forward and ran his fingers over the bark of the tree in front of him, a crescent moon with a small star on either side. Too unique to just be a coincidence, Moon, he thought. He ran his finger over it again. It was new; it couldn’t be longer than a week old. He looked around, looking for someone he thought long dead, before turning his eyes back to the tree, wondering if he was just imagining it because he wished for it so many times. 

 

Moon. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. For a second, he swore he wasn’t alone. He looked around again, still hoping for the impossible. He looked down, hoping for some sort of tracks that’d lead him to whoever carved this into the tree, if only to get the thought out of his head, the hope. There. They’re faint, but there’s something. So, with the deer long forgotten, he started his new search, hefting his crossbow up on his shoulder for the trip. An hour later, he let out a growl; the tracks were gone completely. They were barely there to begin with. She was always better at hiding her tracks than he was.

 

‘No,’ he yelled internally, ‘it’s not her, don’t let yourself think that,’ He took out one of the last few precious cigarettes he had, packs were getting harder and harder to find, and lit on, feeling his whole body relax on the exhale. He leaned against a tree and ran his fingers through his hair, just so confused, wondering if he was just going insane. If the stress of life after the world ended finally got to him, if missing her finally got to him. 

 

Moon. That’s what he called her anyway. He couldn’t remember a time when he actually called her by her real name. They met in high school, she, the preppy straight-A student, and he, the stoner who barely made it to class, and when he did, he had a black eye or two. They got placed together on one project, and even though it was rough at first, they were basically inseparable after. They stayed together for the next decade, moving in together not long after she graduated. They were happy. Then, Merle came back, and Daryl let his brother drag him into all his shit. Started spending most of his time drunk and high, sure, he wasn’t using the hard drugs his brother did, but Daryl was willing to admit to himself it was only a matter of time before he did, if the world ending didn’t get in the way. 

 

She stayed with him as long as she could after that. She tried to support him, help him, get his shit together, get his job back at the garage, but he was lost in Merle and all his bullshit, so he kept pushing her away, until he did something she just couldn’t forgive, and she finally walked away from him. He regretted his choices every minute since then, but was gone, and she wasn’t coming back, which just proved what he knew all along: he was nothing, just like his brother, just like his father, so he might as well lean into it and be the piece of shit he knew he was destined to be. 

 

Still, he missed her; he missed her even more when the world went to shit a few months later. When it started happening, he went to their old house, determined to keep her safe even if she hated him while he did, but it was too late; she was gone. He remembered he’d stood in the empty doorway, shouting her name until his throat went raw. But she’d moved at some point after he moved out, and he didn’t even fucking know, too lost in his own self-pity and the numbness he created with a mix of drugs and alcohol. 

 

He looked up, noting the time by the sun in the sky; it was going to be dark in a few hours, and there was no way he’d make it back to the truck before then. So he looked around, deciding to find a safe place to camp for the night, mad at himself for letting dreams of the past get in the way of his mission today. It was a fool’s dream anyway. Sure, it was a rare symbol, but he was sure she couldn’t be the only one to use it. So he walked, hoping to find an abandoned cabin or at least a sturdy and big enough tree that he could sleep in without getting bitten in the middle of the night. 

 

He tried to focus on finding food, on staying alive. Told himself to stop being a bitch, stop thinking about the past. It was useless. A distraction that would get him killed. But still, his stupid brain wouldn’t listen; he kept remembering the first time he took her out into the woods, how he showed her how to hunt, how fucking terrible she was at it in the beginning, how being quiet seemed like an impossible task for her. His lips quirked up at the memory before he savagely pushed them back into a scowl. He remembered that marking the trees was really the only part she thought was interesting that first time because she loved to draw, and it took her three weeks before she settled on what’d be her sign. He’d told her it was too complex, that it was only supposed to take a second and only had to be visible enough so she’d be able to see it in case she got lost, but she rolled her eyes and muttered something about how she liked to make things better than they were before she touched them, not worse.

 

Again, he told himself it wasn’t her, couldn’t be. But his boots didn’t listen. They carried him deeper into the trees anyway. An hour later, he saw an old abandoned hunting shack in the distance, and with another look up at the almost setting sun, decided he had to stay. The door hung crooked, the wood silvered from years of weather. Looked dead, like everything else. Still, it was shelter. It was a small place with a door he could lock; it wasn’t much, but it’d keep him safe for a few hours. Slowly, quietly, he walked up, keeping his eyes open for any sign of movement, whether it be dead or alive. He quietly put the squirrel he caught down, wanting as little to slow his movements as possible in case he needed to fight. 

 

Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary. The door was closed, so no walkers made it into the shack. Everything was covered by dust; it seemed like this was one of those places untouched by time, still exactly as it was before the dead started rising. There were a few old magazines, probably meant to entertain the hunters while nothing was happening, a few cans of food and jerky stored up in the corner, along with a half case of water, score. There was even an old, dirty couch in the corner that he could sleep in and a heavy stand by the door that people used to rest on while hunting. He pushed that up against the door to barricade himself in, along with locking the door. The whole thing was only about ten by ten, but it was big enough for him to stretch out, and he didn’t have to sleep on the floor. The couch sagged under his weight, springs biting his back. Didn’t matter. It beat dirt and roots. He’d slept in much worse places before. 

 

He used a tarp from his bag to cover the window. Hide the light from the fire. Even cooking the squirrel, he barely made a sound. Staying quiet was second nature by now; unlike most, he had decades of experience in staying quiet, hiding. First, hiding from his father. Then from hunger. From the animals he had to kill to keep breathing. Now from the dead. Same shit. Different world. Fucked-up life.

 

He lit the second half of the cigarette he had put out earlier after he finished his dinner. He kept the tarp up but moved it a little so he could keep watch on the woods around him. The only sounds were the chirps of the crickets that were somehow still alive in a world where everything else was dead or dying. He stared out of the small crack for hours, even moving the couch closer to sit comfortably while he did. When the couch scraped across the floor, something clinked underneath. His stomach dropped. He crouched, pulled it out. An almost full bottle of Jack.

 

“Shit,” he muttered, his first word in days, voice raspy, staring at it like it might vanish.

 

He opened the lid and took a long swig. The whiskey hit hard, fire tearing down his throat, and every nerve in his body lit up. Felt like coming home. Felt like hell. Memories flooded him at the sensation, not many of them good. He let out an annoyed scowl when his thoughts went back to her and the year leading up to her finally giving up on him. She tried so hard to get through to him, so hard to bring him back to himself, and he just kept pushing her away. 

 

A memory flashed of her nose wrinkling at the smell of alcohol, disappointment flooding her eyes. “Daryl, it’s barely noon. Smells like a distillery in here. You promised me we could go on a ride today.”

 

The scowl turned into a growl at the thoughts as he took another long swig. What the fuck was wrong with him? Sure, he used to think of her all the time, once every few minutes, but after he found his place in the group, it slowly lessened. He slowly accepted all the fucked up shit he pulled and accepted that it was all his fault. Used to think of her every damn minute. Later, only when something reminded him. Rare now. Manageable. But today, those thoughts were back, assailing him constantly. 

 

He took another long swig, and he blinked, glassy-eyed, realizing the bottle was already lighter in his hand. Quarter gone. Maybe more. Oh well, he knew he should savor it, fuck, he should take it back. Share it. Do the right thing. He lifted it to his mouth anyway. Missed being numb more. 

 

He wasn’t sure what time it was anymore; he lost track of that long ago, probably when there was half a bottle left. It was almost empty now. He felt his eyes keep closing against his will, the edges around his vision blurry, but he got what he wanted, didn’t feel a damn thing right now. He fell asleep with the bottle in his hand, hanging off the couch, unsure if he had closed the hole in his tarp. 

 

It felt like he opened his eyes right after he closed them, all his limbs heavy and the room spinning, but he knew something woke him up. Some part of himself was calling himself fucking stupid, leaving himself so vulnerable, but the majority of him was too drunk to care. He looked around the room again and saw a shadow in the corner. He squinted his eyes, trying to see clearly, and was sure his mind was playing tricks on him when he did. Sleep dragged him under, but he forced out one word before it claimed him.

 

“Moon?” 

Chapter 2: Too Damn Stubborn

Notes:

Two chapters in one day? Crazy! Don't get used to it, though; this just always happens to me when I start a new fic. Everything else goes to the wayside. Anyway, thanks to everyone whos taken the time to read this so far and an even bigger thanks to the people who commented, they always make my day!

Daryl woke up with a groan. He hadn’t felt this shitty in years. He tried to open his eyes but quickly had to shut them again; even the small light coming in the window, not covered by his tarp, was too much. His hand went to his head, as if that alone would stop his throbbing headache.

 

“Fuck,” he growled, trying to remember why he was feeling this way. Head pounding. Mouth dry. Felt like shit had crawled inside him and died. Did he get hit in the head? Was the prison attacked? He patted his hand around him and knew immediately he wasn’t in his cell. Not a great sign. He felt at least some relief when his hand reached his crossbow. Didn’t matter how bad he felt, if something came through that door, he’d fight till he dropped. 

 

Still, he lay there for a few moments, listening to his senses, not feeling any immediate danger. Slowly, the memories of the night before started flashing through his head. Fuck. Hadn’t felt this bad since the CDC. Fucking dumbass, not safe at all here, anyone could get in here if they tried a little. Might be safe from the dead, but he learned long ago the dead weren’t who you really had to worry about in this new world. 

 

“Never gonna learn, are ya?” He muttered. 

 

There was a snort in response. He shot upright, crossbow raised before he even thought.

 

His aim wavered. Didn’t drop, though. Couldn’t trust his eyes. Couldn’t trust himself. Not sure if he was really seeing you, sitting there, calmly with a quirked brow, “Really, D? After all this time, that’s the welcome I get?” 

 

“… Moon?” 

 

“I mean, if you’re gonna shoot me, you should probably load an arrow first.” 

 

He looked down. You were right. No bolt loaded. And his arrows, every damn one of them, sat in a neat pile at your side. He growled. Embarrassment burned his chest. His face went hot. Confused. Since when the hell did you carry a crossbow? Sure, you’d used his on hunts, but never showed interest in one for yourself.

 

“Give ‘em back,” He ordered gruffly, mad at himself for drinking so much that he was vulnerable.

 

You stared at him, quiet. Weighing him. Eyes steady, same as before. Same as always. He felt stripped bare under them. Like you could still see the man who he never believed was in him. Finally, you picked up the arrows. Handed most back. Kept two.

His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

 

The silence lasted long, too long. You’d used to sit with each other in a room just like this for hours, without saying anything, just enjoying each other. But that time was long gone; now it was uncomfortable, the silence filled with all the things he wished he had said before you left, all the things he wished he’d done differently. 

 

Eventually, you cleared your throat, “So… you good? Hangover bad?”

 

He flinched. Felt like he’d been dropped back into that last year. Same questions. Same tone. Same disappointment. And he saw you felt it too. He saw it in your eyes, the same resignation as before, like nothing had changed. Like, not even the end of the damn world could bring him back to himself. He wanted to tell you you were wrong, that it was one night. One weak night. That he hadn’t been that man in a long time. But words never came easy for him, so he didn’t try. He wished this were before, when you knew what he meant without him having to stumble through the words, but that time was long gone, too. 

 

He looked down and saw a bottle of water and expired Tylonal by his feet. He hated how familiar it felt. Same routine. Same damn roles. You always picking him up when he fell. He didn’t reach for them this time, feeling he deserved the pain. “Yeah, m’ good. What ‘bout you, Moon? Stayin’ safe? Got people? Somebody watchin’ your back?” 

 

The flash of suspicion in your eyes cut him deep. Worse than any knife. He knew the world was different now, knew trust was gone. But fuck, it killed him to see you look at him like that. He’d never hurt you. Not purposely, anyway. The pain lessened a little when he saw your shoulders relax. 

 

“I’m fine. No group, but I’m more of a loner nowadays anyway.” 

 

He leaned forward, old memories and instincts urging him to reach for your hands, but he stopped himself, “You’re all alone? Nah, you’ll come back with me. Gotta bunch a people. Shacked up at a prison, it’s big, safe. We’re growing it. That’s what I’m doing out here, looking for more people.” 

 

You bristled, “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Daryl. Not anymore. I let you play protector once. That’s done. I’m not your responsibility anymore.” 

 

He flinched as if you slapped him, “Know that! Ain’t what I meant. Just—ain’t leavin’ you out here to die, Moon. Not you. Not ever!” 

 

It was your turn to flinch, “Don’t… stop calling me that.” 

 

He watched as you stood, his eyes widening when he saw you start to pack up your supplies, “Mo— what are ya doing?” 

 

“Leaving,” You said simply. “Alone.” 

 

He jumped up, grabbing your wrist to stop you, but let go like he was burned when he saw you angrily staring at his hand on you, “Don’t go… Please. Just-just found you again.” 

 

You scoffed and looked away. He heard you sniff and wipe something away on your face, “Don’t you remember? I was the one who found you. Passed out drunk on some random couch. Again.”

 

A harsh laugh broke out of you. “Guess I should be grateful you were dressed this time.”

 

The memory slammed into him. That night. The one you couldn’t forgive. The one that made you finally leave. He knew more of the truth now, remembered some, heard more from others, but none of it mattered. The pain was already there. Couldn’t be undone.

 

“Moon…” 

 

“I said, don’t call me that! You don’t get to have cute pet names for me anymore.”  

 

He sighed and sat back down, preparing himself. He was never one to beg, never one to say please, not even to you, but the thought of you leaving was unbearable. “Just… sit. Please. Ain’t me to beg. But don’t walk out. Not yet…Know it looks bad. Brings back shit you’d rather be forgettin'. But it ain’t like that no more. Things are different. I’m different. Just saw your sign on that tree and… let it drag me down. Dark place inside me. Don’t go there much these days. Slipped last night.” 

 

The small gasp cut through the room. You’d only heard him talk about that “dark place” twice in twelve years. Never easy. Never without cost. You stood frozen for a moment, then sat. You stared forward, not ready to look at him. Not yet. 

 

“Daryl…” 

 

“I went home,” he blurted, too fast. The word “home” cut him raw. That house with you was the only place in his life that ever felt like one. “To find you when the world started going to shit. Couldn’t imagine leaving you to deal with it by yourself, even if you hated me, needed you to be safe. But you weren’t there.” 

 

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. You guessed this was really happening, that you were really going to talk about this. It surprised you, considering how much he ran from hard conversations in the past. Now you were the one whose fingers twitched against your pack, itching to grab it. The door called to you, the silence between you two pressing like a weight. “Moved out about a week after you did.” 

 

His gut twisted when you stopped there, when you didn’t offer any more information. He couldn’t stop himself from asking more, “Where’d ya go?” 

 

“Does it matter?” You snapped, “World ended before I even unpacked.”

 

“Naw,” he sighed, leaning his back against the couch, “‘supose it don’t. Wish I’d have known, though. Woulda gone there to find ya, woulda kept ya safe.” 

 

“I told you, that’s not your responsibility anymore.” 

 

“Don’t mean I won’t still try,” He countered, “Love ya too much… can’t just sit back and watch you get hurt.” 

 

You scoffed scornfully, still not looking at him, “You gotta hell of a way of showing it.” 

 

His hand shot out before he thought better of it, closing over yours. Warm, rough, trembling. He knew he shouldn’t. Knew you’d pull away. But he couldn’t stop himself. “I know, Moon. I fucked up. Think I don’t know that? Let Merle get in my head, let it get in between us. Let my daddy’s demons find me. But I never stopped lovin’ ya, and I know it’s hard to believe, but I never betrayed ya neither.” 

 

For a second, you didn’t move. For a second, you let yourself feel it. Then you ripped your hand back like his touch burned. “Don’t rewrite history, Daryl. You were a lot of things. Never a liar. Don’t start now.” 

 

“Not lyin’,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice finally made you look at him to try to read the truth in his eyes. He kept your stare, letting you. As if he had a choice, you could always read him, no matter how much he tried to stop you. Softer, he repeated, “I’m not lyin’ to you.” 

 

“Then what happened?” You asked softly, finally ready to listen.

 

He opened his mouth, ready to spill it all. Your hand clamped over it, silencing him. It was too little too late because then you heard it. Footsteps outside. You crawled forward, shoulders tight, every muscle wired. Daryl had seen that look before, a rabbit ready to bolt or fight if cornered. You peek out of the window, seeing two people walking through the woods. Two men, with guns. Your whole body tenses, having seen these people before. Daryl could see by your body language that you were uneasy, so he leaned forward next to you to get a look himself. You hide when they come close enough, not wanting them to see you. Your body instinctively leaned closer to Daryl, using him for the comfort that you used to feel with him. 

 

“Where’d that bitch go?”

 

“Told you I saw her. Tommy and me tried to grab her. She put a knife in his eye.”

 

“Bitch needs to learn her place.”

 

You tense further, and Daryl looks between you and the window, hoping he’s wrong but already knowing they’re talking about you. He turned towards you slightly when he felt you leaning into him, wanting to help how he could, but also leaving himself free enough to move quickly should he need to. You both had your crossbows in hand, knowing that they’d check this place out; it was the only building for miles, they’d be dumb not to. 

 

A growl rumbled out of him before he could stop it. He had no idea what they did to her, but if they touched a hair on her precious head, he’d lose his shit. It wasn’t very often that he lost control of his temper anymore, but just the thought of them touching you turned his vision red. Your hand resting on his shoulder brought him out of his murderous thoughts, for a second anyway. He looked at you, still too angry to think straight, but your finger being brought up to your mouth in the universal ‘shh’ motion had him thinking a little straighter, letting him decide to follow your lead. For now. 

 

Their steps got louder as they got closer to the shack. You listened as it sounded as if their circling it, steadily getting closer to their prey. You held yourself back from jumping when there’s a crunch of a boot step right outside the door. There wasn’t a sound in the shack, not even the sound of breathing, until you realized you’re holding yours, slowly, quietly. You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. This was no time to panic. This wasn’t the first time you’ve faced men like this. Men who thought they could take what they wanted, no matter the cost to others. 

 

Daryl adjusted, moving silently, urging you to do the same. If it weren’t such a serious situation, you’d roll your eyes when you realized he’s only moved to get in between you and the door. That man always did have a wild protective streak. The room felt much smaller than it did only minutes ago. It almost felt as if the room was closing in on you, but you ignored it, raising your loaded crossbow and aiming it where a head would be should they break through the door. Your eyes flicked to Daryl, and you saw he was doing the same.

 

You stayed calm when the doorknob rattled, glad you reinforced the locks while Daryl was passed out last night, but you weren’t able to hide the fear when there was a rough bang on the wall you were resting against, one of the men hitting it hard.  

 

“Think she’s in there?” One of them asked.

 

“Only damn place to hide around here. Kick it in.” 

 

Almost immediately, there was ramming against the door. You had hope for a second as it seemed to hold, but it wasn’t long before it started giving in. Daryl was able to draw your attention away from the failing door easily; all it took was a look from him, and you hated that a little bit. Still, you reluctantly nodded when he murmured, “Stay back.”

 

Not even a second later, the door crashed open. The first man barely got a step through the door before Daryl shot his crossbow. Unfortunately, the man took a half step away at the last moment, so the shot hit him, but it wasn’t the headshot you were hoping for; instead, it landed deep in his shoulder. The second man was smarter than the first, not walking in blindly, but instead using his weapon to enter first. 

 

He aimed right for you; thankfully, you were a little faster, hitting him. Unfortunately, even though your shot hit its mark, he was still able to get a shot off before he fell to the ground. His aim was off because of the impact from your arrow, but it still hit you in the shoulder. The bolt of pain lit up your nerves. You bit down hard, swallowed the scream, but a strangled sound broke free anyway.

 

Daryl’s eyes flicked to you for a second, but he had to focus back on the person still standing. He was too close for Daryl to load his arrow again, and you were sure that with the shot in your shoulder, you didn’t currently have the strength to load yours. So, hand-to-hand combat it was. Daryl lunged forward like a bull, hitting the man in his stomach, taking him down to the ground. He had a knife in his hand; you weren’t sure where it came from, but were thankful as he brought it up to plunge into the enemy.

 

He was stronger than he looked, though, holding Daryl’s arm in the air, stopping him from moving, and getting closer to him. You staggered to your feet, pulling the knife out that you always kept strapped to your ankle, and walked over slowly. They were too busy with each other to see you coming. You raised the knife, hand shaking but steady enough, and drove it down. The blade sank into his eye with a sickening pop. His scream died in his throat, cut short forever.

 

Daryl stayed where he was for a few moments, breathing heavily, looking down at the dead body, his eyes flicked to you, and he felt a moment of sadness for the girl who cried over that rabbit the first time he took her hunting. His thoughts were quickly brought to the present when he noticed the blood growing on your shirt and dripping down your arm. He jumped up, closing the distance between you. 

 

“Jesus, Moon, you’re hit. Sit the fuck down. Lemme see.” He ordered. His hands were already tugging at your shirt, rough but careful, searching out the wound. He didn’t ask. Couldn’t. Just needed to see you were still here.

 

“Daryl, I’m fine, it was just a graze.” You said, trying to push him away, but you weren’t able to lift your arm enough to do it; instead, you hissed in pain. You growled at his know-it-all quirked eyebrow. Finally, you managed to get away from him, “Daryl, don’t. I’ll handle it. I’ve managed this long on my own, don’t need that changing now.” 

 

“Moon, I wasn’t leaving you alone before when you were healthy, there’s no fucking way I’m leaving you now when you have a god damn bullet in you!” Daryl growled.

 

“I don’t have a bullet in me! I said it was just a graze.” 

 

“Yeah, well, you were fucking wrong. There’s an entry point and no exit.” 

 

“Fuck,” you muttered when you saw the seriousness on his face. 

 

You shoved him again, weakly. He grabbed right back, firmer this time. “Quit fightin’ me, dammit.”

 

Still. You weren’t willing to be vulnerable around him, not again. All you knew was you had to get away. Oh, and that the adrenaline must be leaving your body because the pain in your shoulder was steadily growing. You felt your energy steadily draining; perhaps it was connected to the growing puddle of blood on the ground at your feet. You pushed him away with what little strength you had left, trying to walk away. 

 

“No, let me go,” You growled with as much venom as you could. You started to stomp away, but felt your legs getting heavier.

 

“Fuck, Moon! You’ve always been stubborn, but are you really stubborn enough to die instead of accepting help from me?” 

 

Your legs felt heavier with every step. The room tilted. Black edged in from the sides of your vision. 

 

‘Yes,’ you thought bitterly. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 3: Ain't Lettin' Go

Notes:

Wow, really pumping out the chapter, three in two days. Sorry if it's too much! I'm used to longer chapters, so it normally takes me longer. Anyway, a little update: It'll be longer than five chapters, obviously, which makes sense because i'm terrible at guessing, not sure why i still do lol. Enjoy!

Daryl looked over at you as he drove down the road. Thankfully, they convinced him to bring the truck on this most recent scavenging trip because he almost didn’t. He knew you fit behind him on his bike better than anyone; you used to beg him to take you for a ride nightly just to feel the wind in your hair, but he doubted you could do it unconscious. He looked down at your shoulder. After you passed out, he managed a tourniquet with his belt; it wasn’t easy considering where the shot was, but he made do. Still, you were losing a lot of blood, and it took much longer than he’d have liked to get back to the truck. It wasn’t easy carrying dead weight that was bleeding freely, miles through the forest where the dead roamed behind every corner.

 

He looked at you again as he pushed down harder on the gas pedal, needing to get you home soon. You were pale, and you hadn’t woken up since you passed out. Thank fuck the trees were starting to look familiar, you’d be at the prison in a minute or two, and he could see the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

 

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve tied your damn hands if that’s what it took. Should’ve never let you near those bastards and handled it himself. Every mile between the shack and the truck was another mile he thought you might bleed out in his arms. Now he was just praying he wasn’t too late, and it felt pretty damn similar now that he was in the truck. 

 

He couldn’t stop thinking of his run to the truck, the way your blood slowly soaked his shirt even after he tied the wound off, how every sound, every step, he thought a walker would jump out and bite one of you while his hands were occupied holding you. The growls of frustration every time he tripped, the few times he almost dropped you, too focused on you in his arms to pay attention to the ground beneath him. 

 

Your head slipped against his shoulder when the truck hit a bump. For a second, his heart stopped. Then he felt the faint brush of your breath. Still alive. Still with him. Relief hit hard, made his chest ache. Even under such a fucked up situation, he was just happy to have you close again. Still, he didn’t like seeing you so still, so he pressed the truck even harder, muttering curses under his breath every time he hit a bump, worried about making your injury worse. 

 

“Come on, Moon, stay with me, not much longer. Don’t getta give up on me, not now.” He grumbled, sure you couldn’t hear him.

 

Finally, the truck pulled over the final hill, and the prison finally came into view. Daryl was sure he had never felt so relieved in his life. He worried for a minute, his old life clashing with his new, but he was easily able to push that worry away. You were easily the best thing that ever happened to him, and he didn’t give a damn what people thought about it. He had you back. And if the world wanted to take you from him again, it was gonna have to kill him first. 

 

He honked the horn when he didn’t think the gate was opening fast enough. He was so panicked that he didn’t bother turning off the truck; instead, he threw it in park and jumped out of the cab, running around to your side. Too focused on you to pay attention to the people of the prison circling, becoming frightened, not used to seeing him so worked up, frantic. He threw your door open and, carefully, but urgently, tried to find the best way to lift you. 

 

Your eyes flew open as soon as he touched you, fear before recognition entered your eyes. Your non-injured arm reached up, your hand cupping his face. You seemed like you were half asleep when you asked, “D? Is that you?”
 

The corner of his lips ticked up, “Yeah, baby, it’s me. Got a bad wound, alright? Gonna get you to the doc and fixed up.” 

 

He saw the moment clarity came back to you and your hand dropped away from him, your voice growing rough, angry. “Daryl, where the fuck are we? Told you to leave me be.” 

 

He growled, no longer willing to fight, more worried about your health. So he scooped you up and started walking, ignoring your protests and weak hits on his chest. “Put me down! Get off of me!” 

 

“Daryl, what the hell?! Did you… kidnap this woman?” Glenn asked, unsure who to help. 

 

“No!” He growled. 

 

“Yes, the fuck he did! Put me down!” You shot back, pounding weakly at his chest. “Daryl Ray Dixon, you put me down right this instant! Or I swear to God I’ll… I’ll tell all your new friends about the chupacabra!”

 

A couple of voices piped up at once: Carl whispering, “Chupacabra?” Carol snapping, “Daryl, what’s going on?” Rick’s hand was lifting like he might draw, while Maggie and Glenn exchanging confused looks.

 

“I know what I saw!” Daryl's ears went red as he snapped, glaring at anyone who dared laugh, before his eyes burned back to you. “Someone get Hershel!”

 

He didn’t slow, didn’t look at the group, didn’t care about the stares. His jaw was locked, his grip unshakable. The rest of the world could go to hell. You were bleeding out in his arms. He moved even faster when you didn’t have a smart ass remark, looking down to see your eyes were closed again.

 

Hershel and Carol had worked over you for hours, voices low, steady hands stained red. The rest of the group had hovered at first, asking questions Daryl didn’t have answers for, but he’d shut them all down with a look or a growl until they finally got the message. Now it was just you. Just him.

 

You were asleep, or unconscious, he wasn’t sure which, but your breathing was even, not the shallow rasp it had been in the truck. That should’ve settled him. Should’ve let him rest. But his knee kept bouncing, his hand twitching every time you shifted, like his body refused to believe you were safe.

 

He hated how much fear still sat in his chest. He’d carried you through walkers and bastards with guns, through woods he knew better than his own damn face, and all he could think about was how close he’d come to losing you again. The blood soaking through his shirt. Your head lolling against him like you were already gone. The way the group looked at him, suspicious, waiting for him to explain something he couldn’t even explain to himself.

 

And the anger. Jesus. He wanted to find those two men again, wanted to rip apart what was left of them just for touching you, just for scaring you. Wanted to beat himself bloody for not stopping it before it happened.

 

He rubbed at his face, rough palms rasping over stubble. He should’ve been relieved, you were still here, alive, breathing steady in that narrow cot, but his chest wouldn’t unclench. Couldn’t. Because the truth of it was clear now: he’d already lost you once, and the thought of it happening again? It’d break him clean in half.

 

He sighed. He was damn sure he didn’t deserve you, sure he didn’t deserve another chance, just like he was sure you didn’t want to stay with him, that you didn’t trust him, and wanted to leave as soon as you could. So he didn’t know what to do. He was fucked. Which wasn’t out of the normal; that’d been his luck his whole life. 

 

He stared at you, his hand itching to reach for your but he didn’t, knowing it wasn’t his right anymore. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, but it was Carol walking into the room that brought him out of his thoughts. She sat next to him, pushing a plate of food on his lap. He nodded his thanks but didn’t say anything. 

 

“Been sitting here for a few hours now, you know.” She ventured after almost a full two minutes of silence, looking over the unknown girl who clearly knew Daryl and meant so much to him. 

 

“Hmm,” He responded, less a sound of agreement, more a growl. She was used to dealing with Growly Daryl, but she wasn’t used to him, so…feral.

 

“What’s going on, Pookie?” She asked with a small smile, knowing she usually got some sort of reaction from him when she pulled out the name. Not even a twitch of the lips or a scoff of annoyance this time, though. She normally didn’t press; that wasn’t what their friendship was about, but she was worried, so she tried, “She obviously knew you…” 

 

“Thought she died when all of this went down,” He eventually muttered after a silence so long Carol was sure he wasn’t going to answer. She rested her hand on the back of his shoulder in comfort.

 

“And you’re glad to find she’s not.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s good, she’ll stay with us.” 

 

He scoffed bitterly, “Yeah, ‘cause she looked real excited to see me again. Glenn thought I was kidnapping her!” 

 

Carol tried to cover her laugh with a cough, but she failed miserably. Daryl shot his never-ending glare her way, jaw ticking like he was two seconds from storming out. She just smirked, hands up in surrender. 

 

“Okay, okay, sorry.” She said as the laughs finally died. “Wanna talk about it? Why she’s so mad?”

 

He huffed in response, so Carol sighed, “Yeah, I didn’t think so. It’s getting late, you should go to bed. She’s safe, stable. She’ll be here in the morning.” 

 

“‘M good.” 

 

“Yeah, I figured that too.” She sighed again, hating to see her friend this way. Wanting to blame the girl on the bed for it, but not letting herself. It was clear that Daryl cared deeply for her, so Carol would give her a chance, get to know her before making a choice. However, Carol couldn’t deny that the girl already had a mark in the red; someone who didn’t see how great Daryl was didn’t deserve him. 

 

As if he read her mind, he finally answered her earlier question, “Told ya, I was garbage before the world ended. Guess she got tired of draggin’ trash around. Finally took it out. Deserved it.” 

 

Carol’s chest ached, but she didn’t argue. Not yet. She just rested her hand firmer on his shoulder, the only answer he’d accept tonight. 

 

“She was there. Always there. For years. Was happy. Till Merle came home. Deserved better than watchin’ me piss it all away soon as he came knockin’. Couldn’t save me from myself, so she saved herself. Can’t blame her. Ain’t her fault she walked. My fault she had to.” 

 

Carol blinked, surprised he’d given her so much at once. Daryl Dixon didn’t talk in paragraphs, not even with her. He was a man of grunts and glares, a rare sentence if you were lucky. This? This was something else. A confession, a wound left open. She sat with it, quiet, because pushing too hard now might make him close back up.

 

So, she decided to lighten the mood and hopefully distract him. “Chupacabra?” 

 

Carol considered it a win when the corners of his lips ticked up in the faintest smirk. He was positive when he spoke, no room for question, “I saw what I saw.” 

 

Carol decided to play along, “Where? What did it look like?” 

 

Daryl finally took his eyes off of you as if to see if she was just messing with him. While he was looking at her, he missed the faintest curve of your lips, the ghost of a smile that slipped through pain and exhaustion.

 

“If you’re gonna tell this story, you better start with the fact that you were tripping on shrooms.”  His head snapped back so fast that Carol flinched. 

 

“Moon?” he rasped, disbelief and relief crashing in his chest all at once. He couldn’t tell if you’d been awake long enough to hear the rest, or if fate had spared him that humiliation. Either way, his chest ached at the thought.

 

“Mhmm,” You mumbled, cracking your eyes open.

 

“Fuck,” He murmured. The small word held so much relief in it that you didn’t stop him when he grabbed your hand like it was instinct, his fingers locked around yours, rough palms trembling as if he let go for even a second, you’d disappear. “Ya alright?” 

 

“My shoulder feels like it’s just been seared open, then someone took a spoon and dug around in there for a few hours, just for the fun of it.”

 

A breath of a laugh pushed out of him, though it sounded more like pain than humor. “Not too far off.”

 

“Not too far at all,” Carol added from her chair, gentler now. “We had a hell of a time getting that bullet out of you. Scared us for a minute.”

 

His grip on your hand tightened at her words. Too much. But he didn’t let go. Carol’s chest eased watching the way he held on to you, so tight it almost hurt to look at. She didn’t tease him this time. Not when his heart was sitting right there on his sleeve. 

 

She cleared her throat, “Now that you’re awake, I’ll whip you up a plate too. Daryl hasn’t said much, but I've gotta feeling it’s been a long, busy day, not much free time left for sitting and eating.” 

 

You opened your mouth to reply, but she didn’t stay to hear it, already walking out of the room before you could get a word out. You looked around. Where the hell were you? You turned your head to Daryl with your brow quirked and opened your mouth again to ask, but your voice cracked. Carol was right, it’d been hours since you ate or drank anything. He saw your problem and with the hand that wasn’t still wrapped around yours, he reached to a table and grabbed a cup of water, slowly bringing it to your lips. You smirked when you saw the tops of his ears turn red. He was never shy when it came to fighting or fucking, but when it came to showing he cared, he was as shy as a schoolgirl. You took a long, grateful sip of water without commenting on his actions. 

 

When he put the cup back on the counter, you slowly sat up You saw in his eyes that he wanted to stop you, to tell you to relax and heal more, but he didn’t, knowing you better than that. You looked around. This wasn’t a room; it was a cage. Bars and concrete. A prison. Your chest tightened. You weren’t free here. You weren’t safe.

 

His jaw ticked when he caught where your eyes landed, like he wanted to explain, to tell you it wasn’t what it looked like, but the words stuck.

 

You shifted, testing your shoulder. Pain flared white-hot, stealing your breath, and your eyes darted to the crossbow propped in the corner, out of reach. Fuck. Without it, without strength in your dominant hand, you were just another mouth to feed. A liability. And the way strangers kept peering in as they passed, eyes lingering too long, only made your skin crawl.

 

Daryl noticed. Of course he did. He shifted closer, his broad frame filling the space between you and the door. Blocking you. Protecting you. Didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. He’d always been better at doing than explaining.

 

Eventually, you asked, “Where are we?” 

 

He looked at you, his stare sharp, his voice gruff, gruffer than normal, like it was painful keeping in all the words that you could clearly see in his eyes. Right then, you were glad he kept them in. 

 

“A prison,” he muttered, almost like the word tasted bad. “Few hours north of that hut.”

 

“Fuck. My stuff. That kit’s the only reason I’m still alive. Took me forever to scavenge and piece it together.”

 

“Don’t need it. You’re safe here. Got food, water, meds. People always bitchin’ ‘bout sustainability or whatever the hell.” He huffed, shifting his shoulders. “We’re makin’ it work.”

 

You couldn’t stop your lips from quirking up. Sometimes, the things he said, the way he spoke, transported you back in time, back to the years you were together and happy, back when you were the only family either of you needed. You quickly shook that thought out of your head; there was no room for it in this new world. “I’m not staying, Daryl.” 

 

“Damn right, you’re stayin’!” He said, anger back in an instant, “Told you, I wasn’t gonna leave you out there healthy, no fucking way I’m letting ya back out there like this.” 

 

“Let me? You don’t have the right to let me do anything! You didn’t when we were together, and you sure as shit don’t now!” 

 

“That’s not what I fuckin’ meant and you know it, Moon!”

 

“Oh, really? Then what, exactly, did you mean? And I already told you, stop calling me that!” 

 

“Hey! Hey! Quiet down in here! You,” Rick pointed at Daryl, “Sit down, you can’t be getting her stressed out or moving too much, or her stitches will open again.” He pointed at you, “I don’t know who you are, but I do know we used precious resources on you, and I’m not gonna let them go to waste. So lie back down.” He looked between both of you, “You’re not the only ill person here in the sick bay, so how about trying to keep it down so the others can rest.” 

 

Your eyes widened when Daryl scoffed, but followed the man’s orders. Your eyes snapped to him. A stranger. His voice full of authority, like he had any right to it. You bristled, but your body was too weak to fight more than words.

 

He turned to you, softening a little bit, kindness showing in his eyes that you could see hid a lot of pain, “Get some rest, alright? That coulda been bad. Get a good night’s sleep, then we’ll talk about getting you healthy enough to go,” He spoke louder when Daryl opened his mouth to argue, “This might be a prison, but you ain’t a prisoner here.” 

 

Daryl’s jaw ticked. He wanted to argue, he wanted to scream, but he just wasn’t sure what to scream at. Hated watching Rick talk to you like that, hated fighting with you, hated the choices he made that led to you leaving, hated this whole fucking situation.

 

Reluctantly, you nod your head, and his mouth ticks up in a small, friendly smile before leaving the cell. It felt like when he left, he took all the air in the room with him. It was hard to breathe as you calmed down; the quiet was stifling, uncomfortable. You missed when you could just sit with him for hours out in the woods, not saying a word, but having a great time. It used to be your favorite thing with him, those long silences in the woods. Now it pressed down, heavy with everything unsaid.

 

Daryl shifted like he wanted to say something, lips parting, then closing again. He settled for dragging a hand over his face, growling low in his throat. You looked at him, really looked at him; he looked so tired, rundown, worried. You thought back to the time in the shack. You didn’t remember much, but whispers in your ear and running. You wondered how far he ran with you in his arms, how long ago that was, if he’d been by your side the entire time, if he’d rested or slept at all. You felt yourself soften. There were so many things left unsaid between you two, but your love for him was never in question, and you hated seeing him like that. 

 

You reached over, closing the distance between you, taking his hand in yours, and holding it. The first time you initiated contact with him in a long time. His hand froze under yours, rough skin hot and trembling. Like he didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, in case you pulled away. Without thinking too deeply about it, you scootched over and patted the spot next to you with your free hand, offering him rest, deciding to push the rest away till later. 

 

For a long second, he just stared at the space, like he couldn’t believe you meant it. Then, wordless, he moved, boots scuffing slowly against the floor, and lowered himself beside you. You lay back and let the two of you get comfortable; it happened without thought, his hand reaching for you, and your head resting on his chest. The same way you have lain thousands of times before, as you felt your eyes getting heavy. The silence settled again, not easy, not light. But this time, it didn’t feel so crushing.

 

Daryl felt his whole body relax; never thought he’d get to feel you this way again. Thought he didn’t deserve to. Was still sure he didn’t. He didn’t know if this was forgiveness or just exhaustion. Didn’t matter. You were in his arms. First time in years. He’d hold on ‘til you made him let go.

Chapter 4: Jus' Try It Out

Daryl started to rise from his sleep with a deep inhale, shoving his face deep into the pillow. That smell. He couldn’t get enough of it. It couldn’t be real, though; gotta be another dream. Still, his hand automatically reached across the bed, hoping to feel her, and a sigh of disappointment left him when she wasn’t there. His fault for hoping. 

 

The sound of people talking brought him fully awake, and all the memories of the last day flooded into him. He sat up straight and looked to where Moon was supposed to be, where she wasn’t. Fuck. Where’d she go? He ran his hands over his face and held in a groan before standing up and grabbing his bow. He hadn’t been back to his cell since he’d been home, so he decided to stop there before going to search for her. He knew she was safe here, but he couldn’t help but worry. Had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to relax without her in his sight for the foreseeable future. 

 

You walked around the yards and looked at what Daryl and his people built. It was amazing. Sure, it was primitive. Rough. But it worked. And you could tell the people cared about the prison, cared about keeping everyone safe, cared about growing a future here, cared about each other. 

 

The nice lady from last night saw you and waved you over. As soon as you were close, she handed you a big plate of food, “Here, eat up. I checked last night, and you two fell asleep without eating. You must be starved.” 

 

“Uh, thanks.” You mumbled, not used to this. Kindness. You hadn’t seen it since the world ended. Not without a price tag. It rattled you more than the gunfire yesterday. Everyone had some ulterior motive for talking to you; you even met a settlement of cannibals a few months back. So you were iffy about these people, you had your guard up. They might not have let you walk around with your crossbow, but thankfully, they didn’t find your hidden gun when they were treating you. The weight of it in your ankle holster was the only reason you didn’t bolt.

 

“Come, sit with me, please. I’d love to know what happened out there. Daryl’s brought home new people before. Hell, half the people in this place are people Daryl found out on the road, but never quite like that.” 

 

You sit, a little reluctantly. It made you smile to hear that Daryl found a place for himself, a family. He’d never had a real family before, just a poor excuse for one. So knowing he was doing so well made you happier than you could understand. It made you consider that maybe he was telling the truth, that maybe he did get his shit together after you left. Maybe your leaving was the wakeup call you hoped it would be. 

 

“There’s nothing really to tell. Daryl fell asleep. I found him and stayed with him till he woke up to watch his back. Before I had time to leave, people found us and we had to fight our way to safety.” 

 

Carol, that was her name, you remembered, she quirked her brow, “Daryl slept heavily enough not to hear you coming, or feel you there watching him?” 

 

“Yup,” you said simply, seeming like it was hard for her to believe, but you'd seen him like that hundreds of times over that last year of your relationship. He was dead to the world when he got really drunk. You didn’t say that, though. You weren’t going to be the reason for problems between Daryl and his group.

 

“Hmm, must really trust you, then,” Carol said simply. 

 

The words hit harder than you expected. Your breath caught, sharp, before you forced it even again. Trust. That used to mean something between you and Daryl. You looked away, not responding. It stayed quiet; she didn’t seem the type to push conversation when it was unwanted. You liked that. You used to be bubbly, happy, always able to talk to anyone, but the end of the world changed you, the end of your decade-long relationship changed you. 

 

Someone plopped down beside you, all easy confidence, like you’d been friends forever. Too easy. She was a beautiful woman with short brunette hair. She held her hand out, “Hi, I’m Maggie. Welcome to the prison. Moon, right?” 

 

You looked at her hand for a moment, considering, before taking it and shaking once, “No, that’s not my name. Before yesterday, I hadn’t heard anyone call me that in a long while.” 

 

“Oh? Sorry, then, what should we call you?” 

 

You shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I’m not gonna be here long enough for people to need to know me.” 

 

Her smile faltered, “You’re leaving?” 

 

“Mhmm, I promised the doc one more day, but then I’ll be outta your hair.” 

 

Maggie looked at Carol, then back at you. She blurted, “You can’t!” 

 

Her words send a shiver of dread down your spine. Why? Why couldn’t you leave? The last people who tried to force you to stay with them were because they were planning on cooking you for dinner that night. Firmly, you said, “I can. And I am.” 

 

“We need Daryl around here! Other than Rick, he’s who we all rely on. He’s parta the council too.” 

 

You furrowed your brows but relaxed a little, taking your hand away from your hidden gun, “…okay? That’s good, I’m happy for him, really, but what does that have to do with me leaving?” 

 

She scoffed like you were the one who wasn’t making any sense right now. “Listen, I’ve known Daryl pretty much since this whole thing went down. Since a few months after the outbreak. And I’ve never seen him blink when someone gets hurt. Sure, he’ll jump into action and do what needs doin’, but he always does that with the ‘Daryl face’ on. What he doesn’t do when someone’s hurt is freak out like he did when you were hurt. Thought he was gonna shoot my daddy when you cried out in pain while he was working on you.” 

 

“Daryl face?” You asked, ignoring the second part of her words. But a smirk came over your face because you were sure you knew what she meant. 

 

“You know the look. All scowl and silence, like he’s one bad joke away from walking off into the woods forever.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I know the one.” You said, unable to keep in the giggle that pushed its way out. But you quickly calm yourself, “It’s fine, he’s not going to go with me. Hell, he’s not invited. It was nice seeing him alive and well, but there’s a reason we lost contact with each other before the world ended.” 

 

Maggie took the little opening you gave and ran with it, “So how did you know each other before? You dated, right? That’s my guess, my sister agrees with me, while Glenn, my boyfriend, put money on being family friends.” 

 

You scoffed before you could stop yourself, “Family friends? You’d have to have family anyone would wanna be friends with in the first place.” You sighed, then admitted, “High school sweethearts. We were together for a long time, broke up a few months before all this went down.” 

 

“Wow, you guys were together for over a decade? That’s a long time,” Maggie said, half disbelief and half wide eyes. 

 

Carol shook her head.  “More like 20 years, he’s gotta be almost 40, right?” 

 

Maggie’s jaw dropped. “No way. I thought he was late twenties, maybe thirty at most.”

 

You couldn’t help it; a laugh bubbled out, sharper than you intended. “Yeah, people think that a lot. Guess all the scowling makes him look older than he is.

 

Maggie leaned in conspiratorially, “So, tell me, is he as good in bed as he looks?” 

 

Your eyebrows shot way up, and you noticed Carol leaned in too, interested in the conversation, “What? Why are you asking me?! I’m sure there’s someone around here that you could ask who has more… up-to-date information.” 

 

The two women gave each other a significant look that you didn’t understand. Carol turned back to you first, “No. To be honest, we weren’t sure if he was interested in women at all. Or anyone… what’s the word? Asexual?” 

 

You let out a surprised snort before you could stop yourself, “Daryl, asexual? No. Jesus, that man is the furthest thing from asexual the human race has to offer.” 

 

The girl’s eyes widened, delighted with this new piece of information, new gossip. “Well? Then answer me, how is he in bed? An animal, right?” 

 

You almost choked on your own spit, heat rushing up your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you people?!” You sputtered, glancing between them like they’d lost their minds.

 

Maggie just grinned, unrepentant. Carol bit back a smile, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

 

You dragged a hand over your face, muttering, “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and give you a play-by-play of my sex life.” You paused, your lips quirking against your will. “But let’s just say… whatever you think you know about Daryl Dixon? You don’t know the half of it.”

 

That earned you twin squeals of laughter, and you couldn’t help but smile along with them, Maggie actually slapping the table, “Knew it!”

 

Carol smirked, but her eyes softened, watching you with a knowing look, like she understood you hadn’t meant to give that much away, but you couldn’t quite help it.

 

Daryl watched from a distance, you and the other women not noticing him yet. He was unable to hear what was being said, but his lips ticked up when he saw you smiling. He leaned against the prison wall with his arm crossed as he watched, unable to look away. 

 

“Talk to her yet?” He jumped a little, mad that he let his surprise show. He turned to Rick, who was watching Daryl as intently as he was watching you. 

 

“Nothin’ to talk about,” He grunted. 

 

“So what, she’s going to leave when she heals and you’re okay with that?” 

 

“She ain’t going anywhere.” He snapped, tone harsh. 

 

“According to her, she is. Seems to me ya’ll got a lot to talk about.” His hard leader tone softened into the one he used on his friends. He took a step closer and rested his hand on Daryl’s shoulder, left it there for less than a second before pulling it back. “Who is she? To you, I mean.”

 

Daryl’s jaw clenched, his eyes snapping back to you instead of Rick. Safer that way. Easier. “Don’t matter who she is,” he muttered, low.

 

Rick didn’t buy it, not for a second. “Does to me. ‘Cause I’ve known you a long time now, and I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you’re lookin’ at her.”

 

Daryl’s lips twitched, half a snarl, half a flinch. “Ain’t lookin’ at nobody.”

 

Rick huffed a quiet laugh, not mocking, just tired. “You keep tellin’ yourself that. But I see it. Carol sees it. Hell, even Maggie sees it.” He tilted his head toward you, still laughing with the women, softer now than Rick had ever seen you. “She makes you somethin’ I don’t think you’ve let yourself be in a long time. Different. Peaceful.”

 

Daryl finally tore his gaze away, staring down at the dirt. His hands twitched against his arms, like he wanted to pull at his hair, shove the whole damn conversation away. “Different don’t mean good,” he growled.

 

Rick’s voice gentled again, almost brotherly. “Maybe not. But it means somethin’. And if you don’t figure it out, she’s gonna walk right back out that gate, and you’ll never get another shot.”

 

Daryl stayed silent, eyes burning back to you, who was laughing, for the first time he saw in years, and not because of him. 

 

“She ain’t going nowhere,” He repeated, more to himself. To Rick, he muttered, “‘ll talk to her.” 

 

“Good,” Rick said, with one of his rare genuine smiles that came out less and less these days. 

 

“Better watch out,” Maggie said to you, “Mr. Grump is awake and has been staring at you since he got out here. Looks like he’s close to finally makin’ his way over here.” 

 

You let out a long, tired sigh, not ready to deal with whatever fight was surely coming your way now. Carol leaned in sympathetically, resting her hand over yours for just a moment.

 

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. Maybe you’ve got every reason to hate him. But I do know too many people never get the chance you’re getting right now: to see someone who matters again, after all this. The dead don’t give second chances. And you wouldn’t be this rattled if you didn’t still care. Don’t let old wounds blind you to what’s right in front of you.”

 

The tension in your body eased at Carol’s words; you knew she was right. You remembered all the nights you spent wondering, hoping that he was okay out there. All the days you spend traveling, seeing something that reminds you of him, and hoping you could follow the signs to find him. You nodded slowly, not quite ready to admit that out loud. Still, you got out, “Thanks, Carol.”

 

You managed the faintest smile at Carol, the kind that came from exhaustion and truth landing too heavy to ignore. She gave your hand one last squeeze before rising, leaving you alone with Maggie’s wide-eyed curiosity and the knowledge that the man you’d spent years loving, and too long hating, was finally moving toward you.

 

You didn’t even have to look. You could feel him. That heavy step of his boots across the yard, the way the air seemed to shift when he was near. Always had been that way.

 

You finally turned your head, meeting his stare head-on: same blue eyes, same guarded walls, same storm rolling behind them. But there was something else there too, raw and unhidden in a way that nearly made you flinch.

 

“Moon,” he rasped, voice low, like it cost him something to say it.

 

Your jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

 

He flinched, but didn’t stop. His steps didn’t falter until he was right in front of you, shadow falling over where you sat. He crouched, so close you could see the dirt still under his nails, the faint tremor in his hands like he was fighting the urge to reach for you.

 

“Ya can hate me all ya want,” he said, voice rough, cracked at the edges. “Yell, scream, tell me I ruined everything. But you ain’t walkin’ out that gate.”

 

Your heart kicked hard at his words. Not from fear, you knew him too well to be afraid of him, but from the sheer weight of everything you’d shoved down for years pressing back to the surface.

 

You forced your voice steady, though it came out sharper than you intended. “You don’t get to decide that anymore, Daryl. Not after everything.”

 

His jaw ticked, eyes burning into yours like he could will the years apart to disappear. “Ain’t tryin’ to decide for ya. Just—” His throat worked, words breaking off before he forced them out anyway. “—just ain’t losin’ ya again. Not like this. Not ever.”

 

The yard felt too small, the weight of watching eyes too heavy, but for the first time in years, neither of you looked away.

 

Maggie, from what you’d learned, loved to stick her nose where it didn’t belong, her wide eyes flicking between the two of you like she was watching a soap opera. But it only took one look from Daryl, sharp, cutting, and followed by the low growl rumbling in his chest, for her to blanch. “Right,” she muttered, grabbing her half-eaten bread and excusing herself quickly.

 

Carol lingered longer. She gave you a searching look, then looked at Daryl, and then back at you. Something soft crossed her face, like she was silently reminding you of what she’d said earlier. But she didn’t say a word. She just patted your shoulder again and turned to leave, her presence fading with the shuffle of her boots.

 

And then it was just him.

 

The noise of the yard dulled to nothing, as if the world itself knew it wasn’t welcome here.

He crouched closer, his shadow still heavy over you. “Moon…” he tried again, quieter this time, almost careful.

 

You didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “Stop calling me that,” you whispered, even as some traitorous part of you warmed at the sound.

 

“It’s safe here,” He said, not commenting on your words, “Ya gotta stay.” 

 

“Diplomacy was never your strong suit, Daryl. You’re not gonna convince someone to stay by telling them they can’t leave.” 

 

“Well, it’s true, ain’t it?!” He said, his anger growing, only feeding your own. “Why are we even talkin’ bout this? It’s a suicide mission goin’ out there by yourself now. Unless that’s what you’re tryin’ to do,” He sneered, “Is that it? You tired? Ready to opt out?” 

 

Daryl knew he was just fuckin’ this up more. Yelling at her aint the way to get through to her. Couldn’t stop himself, though. Guess he didn’t change as much as he hoped. 

 

Your jaw snapped tight. “Fuck you, Daryl. You think I survived this long just to roll over and die now? Don’t you dare put that on me.”

 

His eyes narrowed, his chest heaving, and for a second, you thought he’d back down. But he didn’t. He leaned in, voice sharp as broken glass. “Then what the hell do ya call it? Walkin’ out that gate half-crippled, no backup, no plan? You ain’t invincible, Moon, no matter how much ya act like it.”

 

“Better than being locked up here like some pet project you get to fix.” Your voice cracked, fury spilling into something softer, weaker, that you hated. “I’m not staying to make you feel better about all the ways you fucked up in the past.”

 

That hit like a hammer. His whole body went rigid, lips curling like he wanted to snarl, to deny it, but nothing came. He rocked back a little, jaw working, before the fight bled out of him in one sharp exhale.

 

When he spoke again, it wasn’t anger; it was bare, unguarded pain. “It ain’t about me feelin’ better.” His voice dropped low, rough like gravel. “It’s about keepin’ you breathin’. I already lost ya once. Can’t—” His throat worked, eyes flicking away like he couldn’t stand to hold your gaze, then snapping back with desperate force. “Won’t do it again.”

 

The words landed harder than any scream. You’d braced for more anger, more blame, not this… confession. It punched the air right out of your lungs.

 

“Daryl…” you said in a tone he knew well. You were tired, running out of fight. It gave him a surge of renewed energy; it meant you were softening, that you could still stand him enough to listen. That it wasn’t too late.

 

He took a step closer, so close he could smell you, that scent he’d carried like a ghost for years. His voice dropped, almost pleading, though he tried to bury it under the rough edges. “Jus’… try it out. They’re good people. You’ll do good here.”

 

You hated the way the words pulled at you, hated the ache they left in your chest. Because part of you wanted to. Wanted to believe in this place, in him. But another part remembered all too well what happened last time you trusted him to keep things safe.

 

“Daryl—“ You repeated, but he cut you off.

 

“Ain’t got nothin’ to do with me. I’ll stay away from ya if that’s what you need. You won’t even have to see me,” He offered when he saw you weren’t ready to give in.

 

You stared at him, his eyes for a long time, trying to reconcile this man with the man you left right before the outbreak, with the boy you fell in love with all those years ago, with the boy who had nothing and no one to rely on. Until he let himself rely on you. Your mouth opened before you realized it, “…okay. I’ll stay. For now.”

 

Daryl’s breath caught, like he didn’t dare believe you’d actually said it. His shoulders loosened, just barely, a fraction of the weight slipping off him. He didn’t smile, didn’t move closer, didn’t risk pushing his luck. Just gave a small nod, rough and tight, like he was afraid the whole thing would vanish if he made too much of it.