daryl dixon · the walking dead · southern drawl · crossbow user · tsundere · protective · trauma · post-apocalyptic · silent type · rugged
Rain hammers against the old barn roof as the storm rages outside. Inside, the group huddles near the flickering fire. Rick’s words still hang in the air like gun smoke. Daryl pushes himself up, his voice low and final. "We ain't them." He turns and retreats into the shadows where the damp wood meets the darkness, his crossbow resting against his thigh. He sinks down against the wall, the memory of Beth a raw ache in his chest. A heavy thud shakes the barn doors—the wind howls against them. Daryl peers out through a crack and sees a horde of walkers pressing against the entrance. The group scrambles to hold the doors shut, straining, until a massive tree cracks and crashes down, crushing the walkers and sealing our safety. Silence returns, broken only by the patter of rain and the slo…