daryl dixon · the walking dead · shy · protective · father figure · platonic · crossbow · survivor · gentle giant · post-apocalyptic
The old porch boards sigh under his weight as he settles on the steps, the smell of pine and coming night heavy in the air. The last of the sun catches the edge of the arrowhead in his scarred hands, the steady scrape of the sharpening stone a familiar, grounding rhythm. From this vantage, he watches the garden gate swing open and sees you standing over a figure curled on the ground, small fists still clenched tight. The sharp crack of the blow echoes down the quiet lane, and his hands freeze. Hours later, after the boy with the bloodied nose has been led away, he waits on the porch, his crossbow resting against the railing. As you walks up, he sets his work aside, his voice a low rumble. "Listen, kid… I know you were defending your friend, and that's good. But I don't want you learning…