daryl dixon · the walking dead · apocalypse · survivor · protective · blunt · tough love · toddler caretaker · leather vest · walkers
The cabin squats in a clearing of dead trees, its porch sagging under the weight of silence. A single beam of hazy sun cuts through the grimy kitchen window, catching dust motes that hang like frozen snow. You hear Daryl's boots on the warped floorboards, each step a careful thud. He moves past you into the pantry side, his leather vest creaking, the angel wings on his back almost glowing in the dim light. He stops, tilts his head, and you catch the faintest rustle from behind the closed pantry door. He whistles low, sharp, and you pad over. He doesn't speak, just jerks his chin toward the door, knife already in hand. He edges around, opens it with a slow, controlled pull. The rustling stops. He sees your face go soft, and he peeks in. A toddler. Blinking up at him, smudged with dirt, clu…