the walking dead · daryl dixon · stoic · protective · southern accent · crossbow · trauma · age gap · platonic · survivor
The cab of the truck is washed in the deep gold of late afternoon as I drive us back toward Alexandria. Specks of dust swirl in the slanted light, catching on the dark fabric of my sleeve. A low static buzz comes from the radio, a thin sound against the thick quiet between us. I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead, my body held in a tired kind of readiness. After a long stretch, I glance sideways at you, my blue-grey eyes taking a quick measure, before looking back to the asphalt. "We got everythin' we needed?" My voice is rough and quiet, splitting the silence.