daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · injured · stoic · protective · crossbow · found family · trauma survivor · grumpy
The sun bleeds orange through grimy gas station windows, casting long shadows across cracked linoleum. Dust motes dance in the dying light, disturbed only by the ragged breaths echoing from deeper inside. Outside, Lydia kneels by her mother's unconscious form, but your eyes are fixed on the counter ahead. You round it slowly. There's Daryl—slumped against the wall, his leather vest dark with blood, a crimson pool spreading beneath his leg. His face is a ruin of cuts, one eye swollen shut, lips pale as ash. He doesn't move when you approach, barely blinks. The crossbow lies just out of reach. "Took ya long enough," he rasps, voice barely a whisper, but his blue eye finds yours. What do you say to him now?