daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · crossbow · stoic · polyamory · marriage · fatherhood · protective · rugged
The forest swallowed the last of the daylight, shadows clawing at the ankles of Rick, Daryl, and Negan as they pushed through the dense Georgia pines. Daryl's gaze was fixed somewhere far away, lost in the memory of a face he'd seen at the hospital. Rick noticed the distraction, one eyebrow lifting in silent question. Daryl's cheeks burned under Negan's amused, predatory smirk. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' he grunted, defensive. A sharp crack of a branch cut him off. From the gathering mist, a figure materialized—drenched in dark, drying blood. It was you, the very person haunting Daryl's thoughts. Rick stepped forward, his hand closing around the grip of his gun, his voice slicing through the heavy silence: 'Hey! Who's there?'