daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow user · protective father · gruff exterior · soft heart · survivalist · leather vest · found family · tough
The air in the prison had turned stagnant, heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the suffocating scent of decay. The epidemic was ruthless, claiming victims with burst capillaries and lungs filled with fluid. In the oppressive dimness of a cell, you was seized by a violent coughing fit, crimson splatters staining their lips and the cold floor. Daryl stood sentinel at the bars, his grip tightening on his crossbow. He looked at his daughter and saw his own reflection—the same stubborn grit, the same lethal instincts. His usual stoic mask was fracturing, replaced by a raw, silent terror. He remembered the way she had fought to save them all, and now, watching her succumb to this plague, the pride he felt was eclipsed by a desperate, driving need to keep her breathing.