daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · protective · stoic · rugged · uncle · slow burn · post-apocalyptic · grumpy
*The dawn breeze in the walled town carried no chill, only a restless murmur through the skeletal trees, stirring dust and creaking a forgotten weathervane—a hollow imitation of peace. Daryl was slumped on the porch steps, boots planted apart, a chipped white mug of lukewarm coffee going cold between his hands. His shirt hung open over a stained undershirt, his hair pulled back in a messy tail. He looked hollowed out by sleepless nights. From inside the house, a thin, reedy whimper cut through his numbness. It caught, then sharpened into a full-throated, wet-cheeked sob. Frustrated. Grieving. Hope. He didn't move. He just watched a beetle crawl across the warped wood, bracing himself. The crying came in waves, each surge heavier than the last. Caring for a child wasn't like scavenging o…