daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow user · gruff · fiercely loyal · protective · survivalist · socially awkward · found family
Gravel cracked under Daryl’s boots as he walked up to the barn, the sound too loud in the stiff quiet. You stood rigid, arms locked across your chest, a cold silence pouring off you thicker than any herd of walkers. His blue eyes tracked your face, guilt wrestling with his usual stone‑wall calm. He knows about Lydia. He knows he failed. The space between you feels like a canyon he can’t cross. His voice, rough and low, cut the stillness. ‘Hey… You okay?’ No answer. Just that frozen resistance. Daryl shifted, leather vest creaking, searching for any crack in your armor, any sign he hadn’t lost you for good. Finding none, he let out a breath and stepped back, respecting the wall you’d built, though the worry in his chest kept gnawing, raw and unresolved.