[A/N]: Hello dear readers! This is a story I have been posting on Tumblr for my friend rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts, and I decided to post it here as well, as this place could seriously do with some more Dwight loving. I hope you enjoy!
You and Daryl fall off the motorcycle on to the forest floor, panting. You had just shaken off whatever assholes had been following you, shooting too many bullets your way.
"You okay, brother?" You ask, out of breath.
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
The moment's rest is disturbed by the sound of a walker. You both jump up and discover a scorched, walker has been lying beside you this whole time. You frown, as it seems to be (what is left of) a kid with a blackened helmet melted on its head.
Now that you're sitting up anyways, you pull Daryl up too and check yourselves for wounds. You had made quite a nasty fall there, when those dickheads had started shooting at you and the motorcycle had skidded onto its side.
Daryl's arm is bleeding a fair amount and you grazed you knee pretty badly, the blood staining your pants a dark red.
You hear twigs snapping further up. You look at each other, knowing you need to move quietly. Those pricks might still be around here. You hide the motorcycle under a bush. Daryl signals to move forward together, to try and take 'em by surprise.
As you stalk forward, your weapons held tensely in the air, you bump into two women, sitting behind a tree.
They jump up, hands in the air and eyes widened, but she starts talking immediately, like she's been expecting you.
"You found us, okay? Here we are." She pauses a bit.
"We earned what we took," she says with conviction.
You hear a twig snap behind you, and your heart jumps in your throat.
You both turn around as fast as you can, but Daryl gets hit in the face by a blonde, dirty-looking guy holding a big branch.
"No!" You scream, catching your brother from falling to the ground. He's knocked out.
"What the fuck do you want from us, asshole?!" You yell at the guy, anger rushing through you.
"Well, the name is Dwight, sweetheart," he says calmly.
"I look like I care what your fucking name is?" You ask loudly.
He smirks. "Feisty," he says, raising his eyebrows. "What's your name?"
You grasp your knife, trying to slice his leg in one quick movement. You'll show him the Dixon feistiness.
Sadly, he dodges your knife with a quick backstep. Of course the asshole has to be agile.
He ain't even angry about it. He just calmly pulls a gun from his waistband and presses it against your throat.
"Hand over the knife and the gun. Don't try to fool me, I see it sitting there in your waistband," he gestures to the outline of your gun clearly visible through your shirt.
You give a frustrated sigh, throwing your gun and knife on the ground with more force than necessary. He kicks them toward the brunette woman, who puts them away in a duffel bag. Once they're out of sight, he puts his own gun away too.
He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his dirty plait shirt, pushing his blonde hair back behind his ears.
"You know what'd be really great, sweetheart?" He asks you, raising his eyebrows. He drops the big branch to the ground and crouches down to be on eye level with you.
He pulls out a bunch of rope from his backpocket and wastes no time binding your hands together.
He leans into you, saying softly, "You sitting there, quiet and still."
You glare at him, somehow trying to tell him without words what a piece of shit he is.
He moves on to binding Daryl's hands together.
"Really?" You say sarcastically. He ignores you.
Once he's done constricting your unconscious brother as well, he moves back toward his girls.
"What the hell do you want with us?" You yell again. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but you're scared. You've been captured like a freaking rabbit, and you feel like you're awaiting your slaughter.
The woman sighs, rolling her eyes. "We're done kneeling for you people."
"Have you been hit in the head or something? As I'm seein' it, my brother and I are the ones on the ground."
"You wanna be under someone's thumb like this, fine. We don't." Dwight says.
"What are you even talking about?" You ask, your face scrunching up in confusion.
He walks over to you with large steps, pulling his gun again and pressing it against your cheek. He bores his eyes into you.
"Don't play dumb," he pants. You squint your eyes at him.
"I'm not. Looks like you got the wrong people," you say coldly. He sighs through his nose.
He moves away again and sits with his girls again.
You're left to sit here, with your unconscious brother, no food or water. You prod Daryl with your foot every once in a while, to see if he's still unconscious. He is.
As night falls, they make a campfire to keep warm. Dwight starts carving a piece of the branch he used to hit Daryl earlier. You watch him from across the campfire. He has a pretty nice face, you notice. That bone structure would make you weak in the knees if he weren't a complete asshole.
At some point he stands up and walks over to you, sitting next to you.
"You okay?" He asks, his eyes on the wood he's carving. You look at him, confusion plain on your face.
"Why would you care?" You ask flatly.
"Because we have nothing to gain from you if you die now."
"Give me some water then."
He signals to the brunette woman, and she takes a bottle of water from the duffel. She throws it toward Dwight, and he catches it with one hand, with ease. This guy really is agile as fuck.
"Make sure she doesn't drink too much. We need that."
So you, of course, gulp down as much as you can.
Dwight quickly takes the bottle away from you again, without saying another word. His eyes on the piece of wood again.
"What're you making?" You ask.
He looks at you in surprise, his eyes moving over your face for a few seconds to see if you're joking.
What can you say? You are a curious person.
He shows you the piece of wood. It is an as of yet unfinished sculpture of a man, its head and torso carved out. You are taken aback by the level of detail and the precision with which it is carved.
"That is impressive," you say softly, before adding, "for an asshole."
Instead of growing angry he snorts. "Thank you."
We sit for a moment, staring at the fire.
"My grandfather taught me, he was a professional woodcarver. He used to carve me these ridiculously detailed sculptures for my birthdays," Dwight says, a smile ghosting on his lips. His face looks a lot softer, a lot less angry in the light of the fire than it did earlier. "I'm glad he didn't have to witness any of this."
"Yeah," you say, before adding, "You are being nice to me." It's not a question, it's a gentle statement. You don't want him to stop being nice. He hums in agreement.
"I don't know why, but I like you. You're smart and you're tough," he looks up from his sculpture.
"You like me enough to undo these?" You say, holding up your bound wrists.
Dwight snorts. "You know I can't do that," he says, though doubt is clear in his features.
"You know we're not the people you're lookin' for," you say gently.
"You're our one chance at running away," he says with certainty this time. You think you see fear in his eyes, but you can't be sure.
"Run from what?" You press. But he just sighs. It seems that the moment of open-heartedness is over. And now you're starting to feel sorry. Great.
"Jill."
"What?"
"My name. It's Jill." He looks at you for a few moments, his eyes and smile soft. He nods, and continues focusing on the wooden sculpture again.
You just watch as he expertly carves the wood in the flickering light of the fire. Something about it is really relaxing to you, and it lulls you right to sleep. Just before the night envelopes you, your eyes meet Dwight's and he gives you a lazy smile.
Next morning, you are woken up with a gun in your face. "Move," says the brunette woman expressionlessly. You notice Daryl is being woken in a similar manner by Dwight. You let out a relieved sigh that your brother is in the land of the living again.
Dwight's threatening my brother to kill him if he speaks again.
Daryl, being Daryl, opens his mouth and says "We ain't who you think." Your brother and you are too much alike in that department.
Dwight cocks the hammer of the gun, saying, "Say something else. Go ahead." His eyes hold no kindness this time.
"Don't," you say, your voice breaking. "Please."
Dwight regards you for a moment, before looking you both over and saying, "Let's go."
The woman walks behind you and Dwight walks behind Daryl. They make you drink, but you refuse and give the bottle to Daryl. He needs it more. He gratefully gulps it down.
While walking to wherever, you keep noticing these creepy burned walkers. They explain that they did that. That it was their way of fighting back. That they thought everyone did.
"We were being stupid," Dwight says.
"Y'all don't think you're being stupid right now?" Daryl says. You can't help but snort about how right he is.
Dwight seems to fly off the handle, quickly pulling the gun out of his pants and taking angry, large strides toward Daryl. He almost presses the gun against Daryl's nose.
"Are you saying I should kill you?"
You step in between the gun and Daryl. You get the idea he is more patient with you than with Daryl.
"No he ain't. He's saying you're stupid 'cause you got the. Wrong. People," you say, emphasizing the last part. Dwight eyes you coldly.
"You think I won't pull this trigger on you?"
He fires the gun at your feet. You exclaim a bunch of expletives. The bullet hit the ground right next to your foot. Either he is an amazing shot, or stupidly lucky.
Daryl growls, a threat undisguised in his voice, "You try shootin' at my sister again, ya prick."
He steps in front of you.
Dwight continues, "You made the choice to kill for someone else, to have them own you for a roof over your head and three squares, so maybe I'm not considering all aspects here. So you tell me: Am I being stupid?" He asks earnestly.
"No," Daryl answers, his voice low and gravelly. "Look, we got somewhere to be. We can make a deal, help you out," he says confidently. You have always envied his ability to keep calm and confident in situations like these.
Dwight's eyes shift between you both. "You're with them," he says again.
"Are you gonna tell us who 'they' are, yet? If you're gonna keep accusing us, it'd be pretty fucking handy to know with what," you say. This guy makes your head throb. The calm Dixon tried, now let the hot-tempered Dixon do her part.
He looks at you coldly, before proclaiming that you should move. They switch around, with Dwight walking behind you now and the woman walking behind Daryl.
"Well you changed your tune since last night," you say casually.
"Don't talk."
You sigh heavily through your nose and just walk on.
At some point you arrive at a clearing, small gates around what looks like a gas station. The three of them walk toward the gates and you look at Daryl. You don't care what they're saying in those desperate, panicked voice. They're distracted: You both know this might be your chance.
Then, by some miraculous turn of events, the girl faints. You movements well-coordinated, Daryl grabs the duffel and you both run into the treeline, keeping low and avoiding Dwight's bullets.
You rid each other of the ropes around your wrists and catch your breath from the sprint. As a moss-grown walker approaches, you rummage hurriedly through the duffel and throw Daryl his crossbow, before arming yourself again with your own gun and knife. Your hand still as you see what was lying under your gun.
"Shit, shit, shit!" You exclaim. "Daryl!" You call out, as the walker thuds to the ground, an arrow protruding from its head. You show him the insulin.
"We can't do this," you breathe.
"No. C'mon, we're takin' it back."
As you approach, you yell, "Drop the gun, asshole!"
Of course, that made him pull his gun. You shoot at his feet.
"Payback's a bitch, ain't it Dwight?"
He can't seem to help the slight smirk that appears on his lips. But it's gone as soon as it appeared.
He gives Daryl his gun.
"We came all this way. What ya got for the duffel?" Daryl asks.
"You can give me the sculpture, Dwight," you propose.
Daryl looks at you with confusion, but says, "That'll do. You ain't getting this back for nothing. Principle of the thing."
Dwight hands you the wooden sculpture, except this time it's finished. It's a little soldier.
Daryl throws them the duffel. "Take it. It's all there."
The woman grasps the duffel hurriedly and pulls it toward her.
Then a giant truck suddenly comes driving in with a bunch of people. After some yelling back and forth, that neither you nor Daryl partake in, it is painfully obvious that these are the people that they are running from.
These people were sent here to play fetch.
Needless to say, all of you run like hell, Daryl supporting the apparently diabetic girl.
All of you hide behind a bush and some trees. "Hey," Daryl says to Dwight, offering him his gun, "take it."
Dwight does so, wide-eyed and surprised.
One of 'em pricks comes your way. You tighten you grip on your gun until your knuckles turn white. Once you shoot him, the rest will come running too. You need to be prepared.
Daryl, calm and collected as always, tricks him into walking right into a hidden walker. The guy panics and calls for the leader, who takes his arm off right in front of you. The bloodcurdling screams of this world are something you will never get used to.
The leader seems to care about the watch more than about the poor bastard's arm.
You inwardly cheer for this outcome, because this means they will have to scurry back to whatever hole they came from to care for the amputee.
You wait until they're well gone before letting out a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from your brows. The woman quickly injects the girl with insulin.
Dwight turns to you and Daryl, surprise etched on his face.
"We thought you were with them." He lets out a sigh of disbelief. You cross your arms.
"Listen, blondie, we told you time and time again," you sigh. "Not our fault you ain't the sharpest tool in the shed," you say with a teasing wink. Dwight chuckles.
He continues, "We knocked you over the head," he nods at Daryl, "tied you up, threatened to kill you. Why the hell did you come back?"
"Maybe we're all stupid," Daryl remarks.
"Speak for yourself, brother. I just wanted that little wooden soldier," you say, smirking.
"Shut up, Jill," Daryl laughs, shoving your arm.
We even get a chuckle from Dwight and the woman.
"You finished it," you remark softly to Dwight, rolling the wooden soldier between your fingers.
"I finished it last night while you were asleep."
"Didn't you have to sleep?"
"No. Not while we're still running."
You walk in silence for a while.
"It's kind of fitting that I gave you the soldier."
You chuckle. "Why?"
"Because you are a fighter. You came back for us. You're tough and you're determined, and you and your brother saved us."
You don't know what to say.
A smile plays on his lips for leaving you speechless. You give him a genuine, warm smile.
Suddenly the girl runs off. Dwight yells, "Hey, Tina, hold up!" He runs after her.
You and Daryl exchange a look. Carl used to run off so often that you and Daryl are exasperated of this type of shit.
You stand in front of what once must have been a greenhouse. Two bodies lay on the ground, veiled in melted glass, outlining their bodies. There is a sad kind of beauty about it, the shiny cocoons glittering in the sunlight.
It turns out they used to know these people.
Dwight takes in the scene with horror, feeling responsible, no doubt. It is clear that this was caused by the fire.
"I did this," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion.
"No," the woman says. "We did this."
Well, at least she doesn't let him take the fall.
The girl goes to them, grasping onto some flowers that had survived the fire. She tiptoes between the corpses, you presume to lay the flowers in between their faces. A beautiful gesture, though you don't trust it one bit. She needs to be careful.
"You sure that's a good idea?" You ask hesitantly.
The girls both at you angrily for disturbing the otherwise serene ceremony they are trying to have.
"Sorry." You honestly didn't mean to disturb their moment.
Then, as you had expected, the walkers start gurgling. The girl starts and falls over, breaking the glass. She screams as they sink their teeth into her.
Daryl and you act fast, rushing over and burying your knives into the walkers' skulls.
The woman starts crying to the girl how sorry she is, and how they 'had to try'. Dwight stands there, his eyes fixated on the dying girl. He looks frozen in his spot.
You and Daryl exchange looks, Daryl nodding to the treeline. You both know it; you gotta give them a moment.
As you start to walk away, you don't know what comes over you, but you grab Dwight's hand and give it a squeeze, trying to express your sympathy for him. For them.
Without lifting his eyes, he whispers, "Thanks, Jill." You release his hand and walk away.
You sit next to the woman, whose name turns out to be Sherry, as Dwight and Daryl dig the graves.
You offer her your hand as a form of condolence, but she just stares at it, and then stares at you. Her moist eyes are dead.
"You knew," she says to you, her voice breaking. "You knew this would happen. You warned us but you didn't stop her."
"Sher, come on. It's not her fault," Dwight says. Everything about him seems drained of energy.
"I can't believe you're defending her, Dwight."
She looks away angrily, turning her back on you.
You sigh deeply. You can't blame her for being angry. Hell, she's mourning.
You'd be too damn proud to admit it, but you do feel sorry that you didn't follow your instinct.
You walk away and sit down over at the treeline. You don't blame her, but you don't want to sit it out either.
You overhear Daryl telling them about we're were from, a place where people are the same as before, more or less, better or worse. An unspoken invitation to come along.
You know your brother. You know he feels the same way about them as you. They are like you; tough survivors who try to hold on to that last bit of empathy.
You help carrying the three girls into the graves, and you search the surroundings for flowers to put on the graves.
You start walking toward the motorcycle again, talking about meeting back up with Sasha and Abe, and how Dwight and Sherry can ride in the car with them. As Daryl recovers the motorcycle from under the leaves, you hear a gun being tossed and caught behind you, and suddenly your arms are pinned behind your back before you can grab your gun. You know it's Dwight, rough hands with long fingers prying your gun and knife away from you, throwing them in the duffel.
You hear Daryl growl, "Oh, damn it," dropping the motorcycle and trying to grab his crossbow, but he is too late. Sherry points the gun at him.
Anger rushes through you, and you try to kick Dwight in the nuts. Fucker deserves that for playing you like this.
"Keep. Still," Dwight says, annoyed. He is surprisingly strong for a guy with such a thin physique.
He smells like firewood, you suddenly notice as his chest is pressed against your back. But this is not the time to get distracted by someone's scent, damn it!
Then he says, "I'm sorry. Give her the crossbow," he nods to Sherry.
"You gonna go back? You gonna be safe?" Daryl asks, distaste in his voice.
"Shut up!" You feel Dwight's chest tense as he yells at Daryl.
"I thought you were done kneeling. That you were runnin'," You say, turning your head to look at Dwight from the corner of your eye.
Sherry fires a bullet next to Daryl's head.
"What the fuck was the point of all this?" You ask, genuinely not understanding. The one time you and Daryl decide to trust people outside of your close circle, you get stabbed in the back.
"Dwight, please shut her up!" Sherry says. Dwight twists your arms painfully behind your back, you yelp. You hold your tongue, despite the betrayal burning through your veins.
"Give her the crossbow," Dwight tells Daryl again. He does. Like he has any other choice.
Dwight loosens the painful grip on your arms, but keeps holding you in place. He leans in toward your ear, and whispers, "I'm sorry, Jill. And thank you," before pressing his lips softly on your temple.
Then he grabs the motorcycle, and while Sherry keeps her gun trained on Daryl. She rummages through the duffel, grabbing a handful of bandages and throwing them at us.
"Patch yourselves up."
Then she says earnestly, "We're sorry."
You and Daryl say at the same time, "You gonna be."