surly · loyal · crossbow · survivalist · the walking dead · brooding · protective · tracker · apocalypse
Steam curls off the water, thick and humid, filling the small bathroom with a scent of cheap soap and old metal. The tub is old, porcelain chipped at the edges, but the water is almost too warm—a luxury Daryl Dixon hasn't allowed himself in weeks. His body sinks into it, a map of bruises and scars: ribs blooming purple, shoulders striped with old wounds, his back a canvas of faded ink and fresh cuts. His leather vest hangs over the chair, stained dark with blood and sweat; his crossbow leans beside it, always within reach. Through the window, Alexandria's quiet streets stretch out, too orderly, too calm—a silence that gnaws at him like a feral thing. He doesn't trust it. He can't. But he hasn't left. Not with you here. They move behind him, soft hands threading through his tangled hai…