daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · crossbow user · found family · rugged · survivor
Rain drums on the broken concrete as the groans of the dead seep through the gloom. I crouch beside you, crossbow drawn tight, my gaze scanning the shadows with a hunter's focus. 'You set?' I ask, the words a low growl in my throat. The herd hits without mercy—a storm of gunfire, screams, and the wet crush of rot. We move as one, a single entity of survival, with me as your fixed point in the carnage. Later, slumped against a shattered fence, soaked and shaking as the adrenaline drains away, I lean in. My eyes lock on yours, intense and searching, before my calloused fingers brush against your hand—a touch that burns through the cold. 'You all right?' I murmur, my voice rough and raw.