This takes place around season 2, episode 5 when Daryl is taken down by his own arrow. He's rushed to Hershel, needing help taking the arrow out of his side, but you aren't able to see Daryl in this shape. Not until he calls for you, begging you to stay by his side.
Daryl Dixon x Reader
881 Words
No warnings, just lots of fluffy cuteness.
You sat in the dining room, chewing on your thumbnail and glancing up at the clock every five minutes. For a while, it seemed like time had stopped. The little hand barely moving as each passing second goes on and fear enters your body.
At first, you were so sure Daryl Dixon was a goner. The way he slumped over Rick's and Shane's shoulders as they brought him up to the farm, his cries for help when he woke up on that bed. Hershel promised he would fix Daryl up, but you still had your doubts.
Now, Daryl's cries of pain could be heard throughout the house. You try to cover your ears, try to focus on your thoughts—it didn't help. He was too loud, too much in pain.
"Y/N." Maggie came flying out of the room, a little bit of blood staining the front of her shirt. You couldn't be sure, but you thought it was Daryl's. Your stomach tightens at the thought and you had to swallow hard. "Daryl's asking for you." She said in her thick country drawl.
Any other time you would have questioned why Daryl was asking for you, even though you two were always just a little bit closer than he was with anyone else. You knew that and everybody else knew that, it was just never so obvious.
You got to your feet and made your way into the room. Rick was standing over Daryl, holding him down with his police officer strength, Hershel, who was trying his best to work with a fidgeting redneck, and a pacing Shane. None of them could have prepared you for Daryl, though.
"I need a needle." Hershel commands as he begins cleaning a wound on Daryl's side. You freeze in place as Maggie rushes around and gathers her father a needle to ready the stitches.
Daryl lifts his head and spots you, his eyes focusing on yours for a second before he reaches out a bloody hand and calls your name. "Please." He begs. It's very unlike the man, it causes you to hesitate before you dash over and take Rick's place at the head of the bed.
"Keep him calm." Hershel told you as he dug a strange looking knife into Daryl's side. You couldn't look, not at this. Looking would mean it was as bad as you thought and Daryl was too strong to get hurt, at least that's what you've been telling yourself for weeks.
"Y/N." Daryl whimpers and tosses his head into your lap, pressing down as he tries to hold in more cries.
"I'm here." You reach around, placing your left hand on the side of his head and your right hand soothing his shoulder with a gentle massage.
—-
"Dinner was good, thank you." You rose from the table and went to check on Daryl. He was seemingly fast asleep when you brought him a tray in to nibble on, but you hoped he woke up long enough to get a bite or two in. The man was out in the woods all day without a single bite.
Inside the room, Daryl was still asleep, his body heaving under the blankets as he clutches them to his chest. It's a nice, familiar sight you like to watch. Daryl sleeping always calms you down, no matter what was happening in the outside world. He was so peaceful, so innocent as he slept the hours away.
You make your way to the other side of his bed and notice he hasn't taken a bite yet. You sigh, clearing away the tray so you could take a seat on the chair beside the bed, wanting to make sure he has someone with him when he wakes up.
"No," Daryl grunts and makes you jump. You turn to face him. His eyes are still closed but he could tell what you were doing so easily. He always can. "Please?" There it was again, that word you swore was never taught to him. Twice in one day? You feel lucky.
"If you want." You say gently and pull his sheets back. His chest is bare, covered in scars from the day's events and a little bit of dried up blood you wish you could have cleaned when you had the chance—not that Daryl would care in the slightest.
He nods and extends his arms, showing you what he wants, something very unusual for him. But Daryl was always a man of few words, unless provoked. He never understood how feelings work, how conversations worked, unless it had to do with killing something.
You slip under the covers and allow him to wrap his muscular arms around your torso. He rests his head against your breasts warily, wanting nothing more than to be held and feel comfort that he hasn't felt in a long time—if ever. You read that much off him as he tries to relax, shifting some of his weight here and there until he found the correct spot and settles.
With a gentle kiss to his forehead, you realize that this wasn't just Daryl needing a little bit of comfort. This was Daryl claiming you, telling you that he was willing to put aside his lonely boy attitude and try something…more.